


ever in our favor

by katierosefun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, BAMF Anakin Skywalker, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Protective Ahsoka Tano, Protective Anakin Skywalker, Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi, Psychological Torture, let's be honest if it's the hunger games there's going to be Not Good Things--, they all need a hug because once again...hunger games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 69,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katierosefun/pseuds/katierosefun
Summary: Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn't afraid of anything.Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think he was too smart to be afraid.[or: the Hunger Games/TCW AU. Three different tributes from three different districts. A tech-whiz, a thief, and the son of a Victor who was cast into the Games on purpose. Happy Hunger Games, everyone.]
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 233
Kudos: 581





	1. Reaping

Anakin Skywalker liked to think he wasn’t afraid of anything.

He wasn’t afraid of Peacekeepers, for one thing, not when he could easily outrun any of them. Not that he had had to, not in a long time. He had once had to outrun them when he was little, back when it was easier for his mom to defend him against his stupid little tricks with the electricity or the radio system. He hadn’t _meant_ to mess around with the radios, but he had, and he was pretty sure he somehow transmitted some music from District 11. He had thought it was rather nice, but then Peacekeepers had started looking for him, and his mother had insisted that Anakin was just a “silly little boy” who played with the dials because he had nothing better to do so _please, punish me instead_ —

His mom had been punished that day, in the end. Tied to a post and whipped, and Anakin had screamed himself hoarse, and one of the other women had tugged Anakin aside, forced him to not watch, but Anakin could still hear the whip fall, and he could still hear his mom’s just barely restrained screams. No one had been allowed to touch her even long after the Peacekeeper had finished. Anakin remembered that it was summer, and it was hot, and he remembered being scared only then, even after his mom healed with the help of some of the other men and women in the district.

“Don’t be afraid, Ani,” his mom had said to him later that night, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that makes them happy.”

So he decided not to be afraid.

He wouldn’t be afraid—he _won’t_ be afraid, not even if his name had been cast into the lottery more times this year than ever before.

 _Just fourteen times_ , he thought. Things could be worse. He could have his name put in there nearly forty times, fifty times, which he knew some unlucky folks did for their families. But Anakin just had his mom and himself—no siblings, no dad. Just the two of them. Shmi and Anakin Skywalker.

 _Just fourteen times_.

And there weren’t even going to be as many tributes this year—there was only going to be one chosen per district this year for the Third Quarter Quell. Unusual, Anakin knew, but the president had promised that fewer tributes would mean an even more exciting game. Deadlier traps, higher stakes. Draw out the game longer than they had in previous years. Make people more desperate.

“You should eat something,” Shmi said now, pushing bread Anakin’s way.

Anakin looked down and found that it wasn’t the brown, hard stuff that his mom and he had to have most of the time. He found a round, soft roll instead, one without burn marks or mold or anything. Anakin looked back up, surprised.

Shmi smiled. “A gift,” she said. “Our neighbors wish us well.” She pushed the roll a little closer to Anakin. “Now go on, eat.”

He wasn’t really hungry—he wasn’t sure anyone was, not on Reaping Day, but—

Anakin tore the roll in half and pressed one half into his mom’s reluctant hand. “We’ll both need it,” he said, flashing his mom a quick smile. He stood up, forced himself to take a bite. They ate in silence.

The bread seemed to clog itself in Anakin’s throat, and for a moment, he wondered if he wouldn’t be able to swallow—but he eventually did, and then he heard the bells sound across the district.

A quiet gasp—not from himself, but from his mother, who reached over and grabbed his hand in sudden desperation.

“It’s okay,” Anakin said. He squeezed back his mom’s hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” He looked at his mom, smiled again. “What happened to not being afraid?”

A silence passed, and then Shmi gave Anakin a weak smile. “You’re right,” she said after a little while. She lifted a hand, brushed her thumb under his eye like he was a nine-year old again. “I’m not afraid at all.”

“That’s the spirit,” Anakin said. He tugged at his mom’s hands. “Come on,” he said. “After this, we can listen to that music again. The singing, remember?”

Shmi’s face faltered for a moment. “You really should stop…”

“They haven’t caught me yet,” Anakin said with forced lightness. Not since he was nine years old, at least. Nine more years of getting familiar with the technology and goings-on of his district had taught him to be nimbler and smarter with what he did when he did them.

“No,” Shmi said. “I suppose they haven’t.” She squeezed Anakin’s hand again.

And they headed out to greet the rest of District 3.

\--

Ahsoka Tano liked to think no one was afraid of her.

She used that to her advantage—she always had, ever since she was a little girl. She was smaller than most of the girls and boys her age, both in height and frame. So that made her forgettable. Peacekeepers were less likely to be suspicious of a small girl, and the others were less likely to point fingers at someone as seemingly innocent as herself. But Ahsoka knew the truth about her own self: she’d known enough about herself to use that appearance to her advantage, starting from when she was old enough to work in the fields. Her baggy clothes made for useful ways to pocket more food and sneak back to her dad and her friends.

And she hadn’t been caught once—the Peacekeepers hadn’t ever noticed, and Ahsoka had always been careful to swipe only enough in haphazard places. The closest she ever got to getting caught was the time she stole a whole loaf of bread from a Peacekeeper, but by the time he had discovered the thieving, Ahsoka and the other field workers had already been long gone, and luckily, the Peacekeeper’s dog had been close enough to be the suspected thief instead.

She got away with those little things easily, and no one ever suspected her. So Ahsoka told herself that if she got chosen, then—

Ahsoka curled her hands over her lap.

 _But she didn’t want to be chosen_ —

She couldn’t be chosen. This was only her second year. She only had her name in three times. Her three older brothers—Wolffe, Boost, Sinker, and Comet—all had their names in more times than her, Wolffe with the highest: forty-two pieces of paper with his name would be in the lottery today. Eighteen years old and covering for all five members of their family. And Ahsoka knew that next year, Boost would be the one covering for all of the, and then the year after that, Sinker, and then Comet.

A part of Ahsoka wondered if her dad ever regretted having as many children as he did—they weren’t even technically related, not by blood anyways. But Plo Koon had always been a man with more heart than he probably needed, and there were many starving babies left on porches a decade or so ago, when District 11 got hit with an unexpected frost overnight.

The only real blood relations might be amongst Ahsoka’s brothers—they had been a whole set, Wolffe being the oldest and drifting along with his younger brothers when Plo Koon found them hovering near the market.

As for Ahsoka, she was told that she had just been dropped at Plo Koon’s doorstep in the middle of the night, and that had been that. Ahsoka didn’t try to figure out who her birth parents were—as far as she was considered, Plo Koon was her dad, and that was all that mattered.

Ahsoka curled her hands over her knees. She glanced around her room—really, the whole family’s room, separated only by curtains, but she liked her little space. She fingered the hem of her skirt: a pretty red thing that fell right above her knees. She had only worn it once before, on her birthday. She thought it was fitting that she should wear it on Reaping Day.

The slight brush of a hand against the curtain behind her was what brought Ahsoka’s head up.

“There you are,” Plo Koon said, sitting down next to Ahsoka on her bed. “I figured you might be here.”

Ahsoka smiled. Tried to smile. “Do we need to go?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Plo Koon replied. He turned around, and Ahsoka smelled the flowers before seeing them first. She smiled for real this time as Plo Koon tucked a red-orange flower right into her hair. “Do you know what this is?”

Ahsoka concentrated for a moment, trying to remember, and then she said, “Marigolds. _Tagetes patula_ , to be exact.”

“Correct,” Plo Koon said, his eyes wrinkling a little bit at the corners as he smiled. He leaned back, tilted his head, and suddenly that smile turned sad, and Ahsoka knew what he was thinking, because she was thinking and dreading the same exact thing too.

There was the sound of rushing feet and curtains being batted aside, and suddenly, Wolffe and the others were crowded around Ahsoka’s little space, breathing hard but eyes bright. Ahsoka knew that they had just spent the last few minutes running through the district—they always did, to work off the nerves and, as Sinker once put it, “to piss off the Peacekeepers one last time”—even though all the Peacekeepers were busy with the Reaping Day preparations. (“ _Don’t_ ,” Wolffe would always groan.)

“Look at you,” Comet was saying, flashing Ahsoka a grin. “Nice flower.”

“Don’t laugh,” Ahsoka said, flicking Comet on the shoulder. She nodded at Plo Koon. “He got some for you guys, too.”

“That’s true,” Plo Koon said. “Come here, boys.”

“ _Dad_ —”

“Come on, I think we’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

Some grumbling and laughter later, and the whole family had flowers tucked behind their ears.

Boost and Sinker looked at each other, snickered, and then bowed their heads, nearly knocking their foreheads together. (“You look _lovely_ , Sinker.” “No, _you_ , I insist—”)

Ahsoka smiled at her family. They would be just fine, she told herself. She looked up at Wolffe last, who was watching their brothers with some restrained amusement. Wolffe caught her staring, and he smiled—rare, coming from him, but Ahsoka figured that they all needed it.

 _We’ll be fine_ , she thought again. She adjusted the flower in her hair and looked out the window, where people were already starting to trail out of their homes. They would be just fine.

\--

Obi-Wan Kenobi liked to think that he was too smart to be afraid.

Being afraid made people lose focus, made them do stupid things like run or jump without looking where they were heading. That was what he had learned from his time watching countless games, ever since he was a child. He would watch them even when his father wasn’t, because even though his father was one of the many famed Victors of their district, Obi-Wan liked to be prepared.

Which was why he had taken to learning and quietly training on his own when he was little—and then his father had caught him, and instead of reprimanding him, Qui-Gon Jinn had only adjusted Obi-Wan’s grip on the makeshift spear he had made for himself (really nothing more than a large stick that Obi-Wan had sharpened to a point).

And of course, the Peacekeepers, had they seen anything, didn’t argue. Secret training in preparation for the games was commonplace enough in District 1. If anything, it would have been strange if the Victors _didn’t_ train their own children, blood-related or not.

Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the back door of the house—mansion, really, but Obi-Wan always referred to it as a house in his own mind. He stepped across the backyard, looked at the lemon trees that made a semi-circle around the perimeter of the yard. Obi-Wan reached out for one, scratched at the peel. Rolled it between his hands. Wondered if there would be any trees in the arena. One time the games had been a frozen wasteland, which hadn’t been fun—most of the tributes had just froze to death, with lips blue and eyes still open. There had been a desert before too, all dunes of orange and yellow sand, and that had gone poorly as well. Most tributes either went mad with thirst or simply laid down and refused to get back up due to the heat.

“Here again?”

Obi-Wan turned to find Qui-Gon standing at the back door.

Obi-Wan held up the lemon in his hand. “This was about to fall off anyways,” he said, tossing the fruit over to Qui-Gon.

His father caught it one-handed. “So it was,” he said. He looked up at Obi-Wan. “What do you see?”

“Seven lemon trees,” Obi-Wan said. “One of the trees is growing sick. We’ll have to take care of it soon.”

Qui-Gon’s lips twitched. “What else?”

 _Your shirt’s looser than it was last week,_ Obi-Wan thought. Dark circles under his father’s eyes, skin paler than normal.

Obi-Wan said as much.

Qui-Gon smiled. “Good observations,” he said.

Obi-Wan didn’t smile back. He took another lemon from the tree, found the grey rot on its underside. He frowned, tucked the lemon in his own pocket to dispose of it properly later. He looked back to his father, found that Qui-Gon’s smile had faded.

“When you go into the arena,” he said, “you’ll have to make sure you’re always observing. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, walking back to the back door. He started to walk past Qui-Gon, but his father caught him by the shoulder.

Obi-Wan looked up at Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked back down at Obi-Wan intently. A moment passed before he said at last, “I’m sorry that it has to come down to this.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Obi-Wan said. He took out the rotting lemon in his pocket and stepped through the back door. He threw it in the bin, where it landed with a satisfying _thunk_. The bin had been meters and meters away, but Obi-Wan’s aim had been perfect.

He saw Qui-Gon nod—just the slightest tilt of his head to signal his approval.

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. “When she calls my name,” he said, “am I supposed to react in any particular way?”

“Don’t look afraid,” Qui-Gon replied.

“I won’t.” Obi-Wan turned to the hall mirror, adjusted his clothes: a white shirt, dark trousers. They didn’t need any actual adjusting, not with the clothes tailored specifically to his size and shape, but still. Obi-Wan made eye-contact with Qui-Gon standing behind him.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what the other tributes will be like this year,” Obi-Wan said, moreso a statement than a question.

“They’ll be more desperate,” Qui-Gon said.

Everyone was going to be desperate.

Obi-Wan nodded anyways, straightened himself one last time. Then the bells were ringing over the district, signaling everyone to come for the Reaping. A part of Obi-Wan wished that they didn’t all have to gather in one place—really, there was no point, when he knew that he was going to get chosen anyways. Not that anyone else did.

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon.

“I’ll see you on the train,” Qui-Gon said. “And remember: play the part.”

 _Play the part_ —be the triumphant, happy Career, son of the Victor that Panem expected. Proud to get a chance to prove to the rest of Panem that he was, in fact, just as much the talented and clever soon-to-be-victor that his own father was.

Obi-Wan nodded.

\--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t enough space.

Really, Anakin wished that the Peacekeepers could have chosen someplace else to hold the reaping, but the Hall of Justice had to do, even though the inside hall was too small to fit everyone inside. There were a few children in the roped-off sections outside. Anakin didn’t know why they couldn’t all be outside, with at least more room to breathe, but there was something about apparently the back mural of the Hall of Justice—a ridiculous piece commemorating the Capitol—that was perfectly perfect for the rest of the Capitol audience.

Anakin didn’t like the mural. There were too many bright colors, and the faces looked all wrong.

He turned to find his mom. She was standing at the other end of the hall, where all the other parents were. Shmi caught his eye and smiled weakly, fluttering her fingers over at him.

Anakin smiled back, but then the sound of someone clearing a throat drew everyone’s attention back to the front.

“Welcome!” a man in a ridiculously flashy, ridiculously golden suit smiled blandly at the crowd. Anakin couldn’t help himself: he laughed a little to himself. Everyone knew who Threepio was, the escort well-known for his silly little tirades about nothing in particular. “Ah, there are quite a lot of you, aren’t there—yes, more faces than last year…” An awkward little laugh to himself, which no one responded to.

“Well, yes,” Threepio said, blinking down at them all. “Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds—”

 _Be ever in your favor_ , Anakin finished for him.

“Today, we are joined by—ah, yes, Miss Amidala, _hello, ma’am, so good to see you today!_ ”

There was a sudden rustling in the crowd as everyone lifted their heads at the name.

Including Anakin’s, as he watched District 3’s sole victor walk across the makeshift stage.

She wasn’t that much older than him—Anakin remembered her own games five years ago, back when she was eighteen and he was thirteen. He couldn’t remember much then, except that he thought she was the most beautiful person in the world, with dark hair and even darker eyes. The other tribute had been his age too. Another thirteen year old boy, who Anakin watched die with a spear in his chest.

“Thank you, Threepio,” Padmé Amidala said now, tilting her head at Threepio. She looked out to the crowd, and Anakin’s breath caught in his throat.

“Now we can begin!” Threepio said in that blandly cheerful voice. He turned to the little crystal ball full of leaflets.

Anakin turned to his mother again.

But Shmi wasn’t looking at him—she was whispering something into a crying woman’s ear, probably reassuring her of whatever was to come.

And then someone jostled into Anakin, and for a moment, all he felt was himself being shoved to the ground—someone had fainted, he realized, and he looked down to shake the person next to him awake, _come on, get up, don’t do this now_ —

The boy—because it had been a boy who had fainted right into Anakin, blinked up at him with glazed eyes. “I don’t wanna go,” he whispered.

“You won’t,” Anakin whispered back. “Just get up, before you create a scene. Okay?”

The boy only whimpered, curled in on himself. He couldn’t have been that much older than twelve. Anakin looked around, wondering if he had any siblings, anyone who could—

“Listen,” Anakin said, looking back down at the boy. “Don’t be afraid. Okay?” He tugged at the boy’s arm, forcing him upright. “Because as soon as you’re afraid, that’s when you make them happy. And we can’t let that happen, can we?”

The boy’s bottom lip wobbled.

“ _Can we?_ ” Anakin repeated.

The boy shook his head.

“Great,” Anakin said. “Good.” He tugged the boy up to his feet. “So come on. Don’t be scared now—” But then he realized that there were other eyes on him, not just the boy beside him. He could feel the shift in the air, the sudden turn of heads.

Anakin paused, and then he looked up.

“Anakin Skywalker?” Threepio’s voice called. He was craning his neck over the microphone, hand over his eyes. “Is that you over there, boy?”

Anakin stared.

 _Mom, where’s Mom_ —

Anakin looked to the side.

He found Shmi staring back at him, her eyes wide and fearful, hand clapped over her mouth because—

 _Oh_ , he realized. He hadn’t heard Threepio the first time, because he had been busy with the kid—

“ _Anakin Skywalker_ , if you can come up now please—”

Anakin slowly turned back around to the stage. He heard, rather than saw, the others shift around him. People slowly stepping out of his way, creating a straight path between himself and the stage.

Anakin took one step.

Two steps.

And then he was walking across the hall, to the stage.

He climbed up, hoping that his steps were steady. He wasn’t sure if they were.

“Ah, yes,” Threepio said from somewhere in front of him. “Here we are.”

Anakin lifted his eyes. He saw a blur of a face, realized then that there was a hand guiding his back so that he could turn to the crowd. “Our tribute from District 3!”

Anakin looked to the crowd. _Mom, where’s Mom_ —

But he couldn’t see anyone’s faces. The lights were too bright, and there were suddenly so many cameras, and Anakin could only blink at them all. He felt a cold hand wrap around his wrist, hoist it into the air.

_Our tribute from District 3—_

\--

There were too many people clustered in one area, and there wasn’t even a breeze to keep off the heat.

Ahsoka swiped at the sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She was glad that her clothes were relatively light, but still. She looked over at her brothers, who were all lined up together near the back. Ahsoka catches their eyes, and they all make a face at her. The joke is clear: _bored already_.

Ahsoka stifles a smile and turns to the front, surprised to find that there is a different escort than the one that usually greeted the tributes. Gone was the previous Capitol man with his strange assortment of clothing and wigs, but instead, there was a pale— _remarkably pale_ —woman with long legs and a completely shaved head save for a few elaborate purple tattoos.

“Look alive,” the escort said, bored. There was a little bit of a rustling amongst the crowd at that— _look alive_ hardly seemed like the appropriate greeting, but—

“Ah, yes, and welcome to the Hunger Games, Reaping, et cetera.” The woman’s sharp eyes surveyed the crowd for a full second before adding, “We might as well get started. Our dear victor isn’t able to make an appearance today, caught up with very important matters all relating to the games, of course, and et cetera.”

 _You already said that_ , Ahsoka thought.

“So let’s just get this show started, shall we?” The woman reached into the crystal ball faster than Ahsoka anticipated, and something in her lurched because she wasn’t ready for it to be done that quickly—

Ahsoka blindly turned to her brothers again, and they were already waiting for.

Wolffe mouthed something: _it’s fine_ , and then—

“Ahsoka Tano.”

Ahsoka was still looking at her brothers, so she saw the horror on their faces before she felt her own.

And then Wolffe started moving forward, which was how Ahsoka knew that _wait, this was happening_ , and _wait, what was Wolffe doing_ —

“I volunteer,” Wolffe said quickly, stepping out onto the path between the boys and the girls. “In Ahsoka Tano’s place—I volunteer as tribute.”

Ahsoka’s ears rang. _Wait, Wolffe, no_ —

A silence, and then the escort smiled. Ahsoka wasn’t sure how she could be smiling at a time like this, but the escort only lifted up the leaflet bearing Ahsoka’s name. “Sorry, sweetheart,” the woman said, “but president’s orders. No volunteers for this Quarter Quell.”

Another ripple through the crowd at that news.

“Wait—” Wolffe started. “But we didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t hear it yet,” the woman said, folding the leaflet in her hands with a few deft strokes. “News gets around the districts slow, doesn’t it? But rules are rules.” Her sharp eyes combed through the crowd. “Now, Ahsoka Tano, do come up—we’ve got a long day ahead of us, and the day’s rather hot.”

Ahsoka didn’t feel hot at all. She was cold all over.

Ahsoka looked at her brothers again. They were all staring at her, pained and wide-eyed, and she saw a sudden burst of movement—but then Wolffe was holding them back because the Peacekeepers were suddenly closer now.

 _It’s fine_ , Ahsoka thought. She looked at her brothers, gave them a tight nod. _I’ll be fine_.

She wondered where her dad was. She didn’t know where he went or where he was located here—probably with the other parents, but what was he doing now? She dully hoped that there was someone around to comfort him, because no one could move until she left with her escort.

Ahsoka made her way to the front, hearing only the whispers of some of the other girls as she weaved through them. For a moment, she thought they wouldn’t let her get past. It was almost as though all the other girls were desperately trying to keep her in, keep her from entering the games, and the thought almost made Ahsoka stop walking altogether.

Someone squeezed Ahsoka’s arm. She wasn’t sure who, but then someone else was touching her shoulder, another was brushing the hair from her face, another was readjusting the flower near her ear. And Ahsoka emerged from the crowd with the ghost of touches from the others in her district, and then she was at the front of the stage, looking up at the pale, long-legged woman.

“Well, come on up,” the woman said, jerking her head.

Ahsoka straightened her shoulders. Headed for the stairs. She looked to the back of the stage—thought she saw something moving in the background, but then she was being turned to look at the cameras gathered around her.

A pat on her shoulder from the woman. Her hand was cold.

“Our tribute from District 11,” the woman said flatly to the cameras. She looked down at Ahsoka, nodded her head to the cameras again. “Anything in particular you want to say while the cameras are still rolling, sweetheart? Give a good first impression for all of us?”

Ahsoka stared up at the woman. This wasn’t usually how most reapings went—she wasn’t sure if this new escort was making fun of her or not.

Ahsoka looked to the cameras.

 _People aren’t afraid of you_ , a voice whispered at the back of her head. _Make them keep thinking that._

So Ahsoka only smiled—her sweetest, most naïve smile, the kind that she only ever gave when she was trying to wheedle her brothers into doing something for her. She twirled a strand of her dark hair around a finger and waved at the camera until her wrist hurt.

\--

Obi-Wan didn’t care if there were too many people clustered around the area. He’d be separated from the rest soon enough.

He saw some boys and girls toss curious glances his way. Some sneers, but most just watched him with a wary eye. Obi-Wan already knew most of them were running statistics in their heads: trying to guess whether or not he would be able to get drawn. He was eighteen—his name would have technically only been cast seven times, and he didn’t have any need to cast his name any more than that.

Obi-Wan didn’t bother meeting the stares of those who looked at him. Let them stare, he decided. He would be under the attention of the entire country in just a few minutes anyways, and in just a few days, he would be under the attention of the entire country for hours on end. He might as well get some more practice now.

Not that he hadn’t had practice before. Being the Victor’s son always got him an extra glance or two in school, in the streets. He remembered a boy had once asked him if his father ever told him stories of the games, so Obi-Wan had made one up on the spot, just so the boy could leave him alone.

The truth was Qui-Gon didn’t tell Obi-Wan too much of his own experience in the games. There had been some clips played, of course, during each reaping—clips of his father emerging victorious out of a dense jungle with mud and blood splattered across his face, but he had been standing defiant until the very end.

Obi-Wan figured he wouldn’t get a jungle, not for his games. The game-makers didn’t like repeating themselves, and from what Obi-Wan had watched from the recordings of his own father’s time at the games, he was a little glad he wouldn’t be stuck in a jungle. There had been great bugs that sucked their victims dry of blood, suffocating mists that left their victims choking on their own vomit and spit, vines that came to life and tried strangling their victims to death whenever things got a little too slow. Obi-Wan had watched a clip of his own father use one of those vines to his own advantage, somehow manipulating them into choking one of his pursuers instead.

Qui-Gon had shut off the television after finding Obi-Wan watching that recording.

They hadn’t spoken about it afterwards, and when Obi-Wan went to search for the recording of those games again, he found that they were deleted from the television. He was fairly sure the Capitol didn’t allow such behavior, but he didn’t ask questions, and his father didn’t give him any answers.

Obi-Wan watched some of the clips from the previous games play before him now: shots of his father, and then shots of the other victors from the past in their final moments. Most of the victors were from District 1, District 2, District 4. All of the more favored districts. But there was the occasional victor from the other districts—Mace Windu from District 7, Quinlan Vos from District 5, Luminara Unduli from District 8, and most recently, a young girl named Katooni from District 12. That had been a surprise to all—the girl was no more than twelve years old, and yet everyone had watched her confuse her opponent into falling off the edge of a cliff. There weren’t any other living victors from District 12—Obi-Wan tried to imagine this child now attempting to mentor and get sponsorships for someone who might potentially be older than herself.

And now, finally, the escort—a young, blonde woman who Obi-Wan knew as Satine Kryze, although he couldn’t be sure that was her real name—all the Capitol people made up their own names by the day, it seemed. He had only ever met her a few times, once in his own home. She couldn’t have been that much older than himself, and he remembered being confused why there was a random girl in the hallway, but then she had just given him a quick, appraising look before walking out.

Obi-Wan only found out that he was to be the new escort a few weeks ago, and now, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Qui-Gon had told him that the girl in their home was to be the escort, he wouldn’t have guessed looking at Satine now: she was dressed in a particularly voluminous blue dress, her hair piled atop her head in an elaborate headset.

“Welcome,” Satine said now, nodding at the crowd as though they were all good friends. “And welcome to the 75th Hunger Games. May the odds be _ever_ in your favor.” Her lips curled into a slight smile, as though she knew something that the rest of the district didn’t. For all Obi-Wan knew, she might already know what the game makers were planning. He didn’t put it past the escorts for his district to somehow already have some inside knowledge with the rest of the games.

And beside Satine, Obi-Wan saw his father. Still wearing the same loose shirt, loose pants that was only halfheartedly held up by a belt, but someone had applied enough makeup to reduce the dark circles under his eyes.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Satine repeated, and then she dipped her hand into the bowl.

And when she said his name—it didn’t matter if his name wasn’t actually on the leaflet she had pulled, she would say his name anyways, that was the deal, Obi-Wan knew, Obi-Wan pressed through the crowd without a second thought. It wasn’t difficult for him to keep his shoulders back, chin up.

 _Don’t look afraid_ , Qui-Gon had told him.

 _Only idiots get afraid_ , Obi-Wan thought. He kept his hands at his sides, mounted the stairs to the stage. Satine and Qui-Gon both looked at him, gave him a slight nod as he made his way to the front of the stage.

He looked at the cameras and smiled.

_Let the games begin._


	2. Impressions (Part One)

“You’re allowed five minutes.”

Anakin didn’t even get to process those words before the doors suddenly flew open, and then all he felt were warm, trembling arms and his mom’s shirt as he was dragged forward. And then he closed his eyes, breathed in his mom, who smelled a little like the bread she had gotten this morning— _this morning?_

“Ani—oh, my boy—”

“Mom—” Anakin’s voice cracked, and he hated that it did, because he was pretty sure the Peacekeepers could hear him from outside, and he didn’t want them to hear him like this, but—

“You need to stay alive, do you understand?” Shmi whispered fiercely, combing her fingers through Anakin’s hair. “Please, you have to—”

“I know,” Anakin said. “Mom, I’ll really try—”

“Don’t try,” Shmi said, and she briefly pulled away, looked at Anakin in the eye. Her eyes were dark brown, so unlike his own blue, he knew, but he never felt like that difference counted. He knew that there was every bit of her in him than he could ever know. “Anakin, don’t _try_ —just _win_. Alright?” She brushed her thumb under Anakin’s eye, and Anakin felt like he was a nine year old again.

“I will,” Anakin said. He caught his mom’s hand, squeezed it tightly. “And after, we’ll listen to the music—”

Shmi let out a small half-laugh. She looked up at Anakin, placed her other hand on his face.

Anakin didn’t know how much time they had left. He didn’t want to check.

“I won’t be afraid, Mom,” he said. “But if you see me—”

“I’ll see you win,” Shmi replied. She squeezed Anakin’s hand back. “I’ll see you win, and that will be all there is to it.” She swallowed. “And when I see you win,” she said slowly, “you’ll come straight home to me.”

“We’ll be rich,” Anakin said, and he tried to sound happy, tried to lighten his tone, but Shmi shook her head.

“I don’t care if we’re rich,” she said. “Just come back to me.”

Anakin nodded.

“You’re allowed to bring something of your own district with you,” Shmi said, her hand delving into her pocket. “I…didn’t have much to bring, but I…” She passed along a small block of wood, a small knife that Anakin concealed with his own hand. He doubted that the Peacekeepers would be happy to find one of the tributes already with a weapon. “Carving used to always calm you down, so if you…” She blinked a few times. “If you make something nice, maybe it’ll be a good luck charm.”

Anakin smiled. It hurt. But he tucked the wood block in his pocket too, and then he squeezed both of his mom’s hands. “Thanks, Mom.”

Shmi gave Anakin a small smile, and then the doors were opening, and Anakin looked up to find the Peacekeepers—not one, but three—marching on. “Mom, I think we’re out of time.”

Shmi didn’t turn around. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you too, Mom,” Anakin said, and he forced his voice steady as one of the Peacekeepers grabbed Shmi’s elbow. He saw the way the Peacekeeper’s knuckles curled, the quick flash of pain across his mom’s face, and then Anakin was standing up, already reaching out again. “ _Don’t touch her_ —”

But then the doors were opening again, and the Peacekeepers stopped.

“That’s the mother of the tribute you’re handling,” Padmé Amidala said sharply. “And the mother of a potential Victor. I would try to treat her with a little more respect.”

Anakin stared. The Peacekeepers only exchanged glances at one another, but then they were letting go of Shmi’s arm, letting her walk unrestrained. Anakin swallowed, watched Shmi head out of the room with her head lifted. And then, right behind herself, Anakin saw her squeeze her hands together—a silent signal to Anakin. _I love you_.

Anakin’s chest hurt, but even when the doors closed, he didn’t dare say anything.

Which was fine, because it seemed that Padmé was more interested in starting the conversation herself.

“Well,” she said, giving Anakin an appraising look, “are you frightened?”

Anakin straightened. “No.”

A quirk of her lips, but then Padmé was moving towards Anakin. For a second, Anakin didn’t know whether to stand up or remain seated, but then Padmé leaned against the other side of the wall, her arms folded over her chest and her eyes flicking over to Anakin again.

Anakin met her stare. He realized that even from this much closer, her eyes weren’t as dark as he had initially thought they were. She was watching him skeptically, carefully. Anakin wondered if he looked the same.

“The next few days are going to be difficult,” she said. “And the second you walk out those doors and onto the train, people will be watching your every move. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded.

“So we’ll have to work on your persona.” Padmé pushed herself off the wall, took a few slow steps around the room. She glanced at Anakin again. “Threepio will have some ideas—he’s a nervous type, but when he has a good idea, it’s a goldmine.” She tilted her head at Anakin. “We already have some footage to go off of.”

For a heart-stopping second, Anakin wondered if this woman somehow already knew how he could get into the other districts’ radios, but then Padmé said, “The cameras caught you helping out that little boy. That made some impression, I’m sure.” She turned herself fully to Anakin again. “Stand up.”

Anakin stood.

Padmé looked him over again. She nodded, the look in her eyes distant, calculating figures Anakin didn’t even know of. “You look threatening enough,” she said. “Tall. Stronger than most. But with some heart in there. That’s good. The Capitol will eat that up.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s a great thing,” Padmé said. “You’ll get more sponsors that way.” She lifted her eyes to Anakin. “Well, come on then. Off we go.”

\--

“You’re allowed three minutes.”

 _Three minutes? That wasn’t enough_ —

So as soon as the doors opened, Ahsoka launched herself forward, found herself tangled in a pile of arms and hands. For just a moment, Ahsoka could only rock into them, her face buried in her dad’s chest, her brothers’ hands on her back, her shoulders. She didn’t care if the flower in her hair got crumpled, and she didn’t care if they were being watched by cameras or anything. For three minutes, she wanted as much as her family as she could possibly get because she knew in just a little bit of time, she would be whisked away on the other side of the country, right to the Capitol—

“When you go in,” Wolffe was saying, “you have to hide. Just hide, Ahsoka. Don’t do anything tricky.”

“I don’t even know if there’ll be a good place to hide,” Ahsoka said into her dad’s chest.

“There will be,” Plo Koon said, and Ahsoka’s chest hurt at how hollow his voice was, how painfully low. “They always need to have some hiding places, otherwise the games would be over too quickly.” Ahsoka felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head, felt the hands around her squeeze again.

“I’ll come back,” Ahsoka said. She swallowed. She squeezed her arms around her dad’s waist, reached out for a hand—anyone’s. She found Boost’s hand, and for once, her brother didn’t have any jokes to crack. She almost wished he would, just to take her mind off things, but she knew there wasn’t any point in it now. “I _promise_ I’ll come back. I’ll outsmart everyone, you’ll see.”

“Of course you will,” Comet said immediately. “The other tributes will be dumb as bricks.”

Ahsoka was glad for the reassurance. She managed a smile that she hoped wasn’t too watery.

But that didn’t work, because then she saw her brothers’ faces crumple, and then they were back to burying their faces against each others’ shoulders, clinging onto whatever was left of themselves. Ahsoka didn’t care if she couldn’t see anything or that she couldn’t really breathe under all the arms and limbs—she would gladly take the few seconds of being unable to breathe, because at least that meant that her family was still with her—

“Time’s up,” came the Peacekeeper’s rough voice. “Out.”

Too soon, Ahsoka felt her dad and her brothers’ arms being yanked away, and she cried out, tried to reach for them, and she caught her dad’s hand for just an instant—just by the fingers, but then they were slipping away too, and then the door slammed shut, and Ahsoka was left alone.

For a moment, Ahsoka could only hear the sounds of half-dragged footsteps and her brothers’ shouts, and Ahsoka wished she could make out their words, but then they were gone.

Ahsoka dropped down to the closest seat she could find—a ridiculously upholstered chair that seemed to match with the other ridiculously expensive looking furniture around her. Velvet linings, dark wooden surfaces that shined in an odd way, dusty, heavy books with yellowing pages that Ahsoka was pretty sure had never been read.

Ahsoka looked out the window. She could already see the train making its way towards the district, and she knew that in just a few moments, she would be boarding that very train. She would be making her way to the Capitol, where her face would be featured on every camera for every second of her life.

Ahsoka took in a shuddering breath. And then she reached up to her hair and found the crumpled flower in between the strands. She let it slip into her hand, and she held it up for herself. The marigold’s petals had crumpled, the short stem twisted. Ahsoka smoothed it out in her hand, fingered the petals. She would probably have to give it up soon, if not now.

Ahsoka closed her fingers around the marigold, but she didn’t crush it. She would throw it out the train, she decided. Right when they were crossing the boundary of her district—one part of her would remain home when the rest of her wasn’t.

Ahsoka nodded to herself. Just one part of her.

She was sticking the half-crumpled flower in her pocket when the doors opened again. Ahsoka’s head snapped up, even though she knew it couldn’t be her family.

But then she stopped, and for a dizzying second, Ahsoka thought—

The person standing in front of her looked almost exactly like Ahsoka’s brothers. The same brown eyes, the same jawline, the same chin, the same warm complexion. The only difference was that this person stood straighter, and instead of dark hair, Ahsoka found just the barest of blond fuzz from the otherwise shaved head.

But besides all that—

Ahsoka’s chest hurt again.

“Who…”

“Rex,” the man said. “I’m your mentor.”

Ahsoka stared. The Victor hadn’t shown up at the reaping, she remembered. And he was standing right in front of her now, and Ahsoka wondered why she couldn’t remember seeing his face before. She should have been able to remember his face, because it looked so much like her brothers’—

“Ahsoka,” Ahsoka managed to reply.

Rex nodded. He paused, and then, after a moment, he reached into his pocket and a moment later, Ahsoka found herself staring at a cluster of other slightly-crumpled marigolds. The same marigolds that her dad had given her brothers.

Ahsoka’s throat tightened.

“I caught your family on my way here,” he said. “They didn’t have any formal token with them, but they gave what they could.” He nodded down to Ahsoka’s hand.

Ahsoka slowly lifted her hand, and Rex closed the flowers into her palm.

“Now,” Rex said. “Let’s get started.”

\--

There wasn’t even any time necessarily needed for Obi-Wan to wait in the room that most tributes used to say goodbye to their families. For him, he just needed to step on the train with Qui-Gon and Satine, and that was it.

He now sat on the couch—it was a rather nice couch, but then again, this was a rather nice train because it was a Capitol train, after all—and watched the recordings of today’s reaping. There was a young boy, as Obi-Wan suspected, selected from District 12. Another twelve-year old, with dark hair and defiant green eyes who positioned himself next to Katooni, who now had to be thirteen at the most.

District 11 brought with it a young girl—not as young as the District 12 tribute—but still relatively young, one with a marigold in her hair. She waved to the camera, and she looked almost cheerful, which Obi-Wan supposed he could give her some credit for.

The next district tributes passed by quickly: a boy around Obi-Wan’s age wearing a strange hat came from District 10, a young girl whose black hair was bunched around the back of her neck from District 9, another girl with a head covering and a splash of freckles across her face came from District 8. A young boy with short brown hair and folded arms came from District 7, and another boy with grey-green eyes stepped up to the stage from District 6. District 5 brought with it a young woman with long hair in two braids down her back, and District 4 brought with it a silent, broad young man who didn’t so much as acknowledge either escort or mentor.

District 3 was somewhat interesting—Obi-Wan watched as a young man with chestnut curls and bright, blue eyes helped up a young boy who had collapsed in fear. For a moment, he didn’t seem to hear that the escort had called up his name. But when he finally did, the young man made his way up the stage, looked blankly at the cameras.

The last tribute—District 2—was also semi-interesting, Obi-Wan supposed. Another young man, one with a fierce yellow-toothed grin who spoke in slow, soft tones that he was glad to have been chosen.

And then Obi-Wan watched himself: head held high, a hero’s smile that greeted the cameras.

“Well, you certainly look smug,” Satine said.

Obi-Wan turned around. He didn’t know how long she had been standing there. She had taken off her headdress, and now her hair fell back around her shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on the television though, arms crossed over her chest. “Very smug,” she added.

“Confident, you mean,” Obi-Wan said, turning back around to the television.

“No, I mean smug,” Satine replied. “But whatever gets you sponsors, I suppose.”

“Not to worry,” Obi-Wan said, leaning over for the remote. He clicked off the television. “That’ll be the mentor’s job.”

Satine let out a short breath. “Where is your father, anyways?”

“He said he had to settle some affairs,” Obi-Wan replied. He heard Satine sigh behind him again, and then he looked up to find Satine moving around to the couch beside him. She sat down, smoothed out her dress, and took out a touchscreen pad. “Are we getting started, then?”

“We might as well, if your father’s going to be late,” Satine muttered. She looked up at Obi-Wan. “I can’t exactly give you any advice on the training front, but I suppose you already have the majority of that training done on your own anyways?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Right, then,” Satine said, looking back down at her pad. She swept up the screen a few times, and with a small smile, she said, “Yes, the Capitol’s already got their eye on you. Adopted son of a Victor, a Career, all of that.” She narrowed her eyes at the screen and commented, “They rather liked your smile, it says here.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Obi-Wan said.

Satine only hummed. “Well, then, if you plan to keep playing up that—as you say, _confident_ —persona, then you might as well have a plan on how to maintain it.” She drummed her finger against the pad. “Especially with your interview with Hondo Ohnaka.”

 _Ah, yes_. Hondo Ohnaka, the Capitol’s one and only host for the Hunger Games. Obi-Wan was fairly certain he had been hosting for longer than he probably ought to—but it was impossible to tell how old Hondo was. He had a certain ageless quality about him and a seemingly endless refuse of energy which didn’t at all seem to run out in the years. If anything, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he had only grown more energetic recently.

“He’ll probably ask about your father,” Satine said, setting the pad down on the coffee table. “Some good memories growing up with dear old dad. Something about asking if you’re there to fill the shoes. You’ll need to share something heartwarming, but not enough so that people will think you’re—”

“I know,” Obi-Wan interrupted.

Satine smiled, although it wasn’t a particularly kind one. She opened her mouth, and Obi-Wan wondered what comment he would get next when the doors slid open behind them.

“Good, you’ve already started discussions,” Qui-Gon said, seating himself in the couch on Obi-Wan’s other side. He glanced at the television, even though it was turned off. He looked back at Obi-Wan. “Who did you see?”

“A few people of interest,” Obi-Wan said. “District 2 might stir up some trouble.”

“District 2 will look to you for an alliance,” Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan had thought of that, but he didn’t particularly like the look on District 2’s face when he came up on the stage. Nor did he particularly like the silent glarer of District 4. He had the sneaking suspicion that both parties would be more likely to stab him in the back than anything else.

“He’ll have to look for it elsewhere,” Obi-Wan said.

If Qui-Gon was surprised by Obi-Wan’s disinterest in the potential alliance, he didn’t show it. “Very well,” Qui-Gon said. “In the meantime, we’ll have to prepare you for the training. There’ll be your display first, but after, with the training period, try to go to every station.”

Qui-Gon sat back in his seat, gave Obi-Wan a pointed look. “Everyone will already suspect that you know your way around most weaponry, so only warm up. Don’t show the full extent of your skills.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “As for the other stations—”

“Get a good sweep of who you’re up against,” Qui-Gon replied. “Note everyone else’s strengths, if they’re showing them at all.”

Obi-Wan nodded again. He paused, and then, he asked, “As for the stylist?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “You’ll see.”

\--

Anakin wasn’t sure what he was expecting what his stylist would look like—he didn’t know what to expect of most Capitol people, except that so far, from his limited conversations with Threepio (limited because Anakin quickly discovered that he couldn’t tolerate any longer than two minutes of the anxious prattle of his escort), they often dressed ridiculously and spoke for ridiculously long amounts of time. Anakin wasn’t sure if perhaps that was all because Capitol people enjoyed hearing themselves talk or simply forgot that people from the actual districts knew how to talk themselves.

But he didn’t get the impression that Threepio didn’t think Anakin was stupid—he just had a feeling that Threepio was a little wired. Padmé didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she seemed to find it all rather amusing.

Anakin wished that he could feel the same sentiment, but he figured it was easier for Padmé to be amused. She wasn’t the one going into the arena.

And then Anakin felt bad thinking that, because she had done her due, so he shouldn’t resent her for not having to go through it this time around.

He spent most of his time on the train listening to Padmé a little more after that, and he managed to get in a few more conversations with Threepio. But most of the time, when he was left alone, he spent his time with the chip of wood and knife. So far, no one had found the knife yet, and Anakin was careful to keep it concealed in his pocket at all times. He wasn’t sure what he was designing yet—just that he had carved off a bit of wood here, a bit of wood there.

Anakin contemplated taking out that bit of wood now, working on it some more when the doors slid open in front of him.

He heard Threepio’s prattling voice—“ _really, what took you so long, I made him show up this early for nothing_ ”—and then an offended huff, followed by more of Threepio: “no need to give me that gesture, really, how _rude_ —”

“Really, how _rude_ ,” a voice mimicked, and Anakin looked up to find a surprisingly short man wearing a flashing—actually _flashing_ , with little lights sewn into the fabric—blue and white suit. There was a single red cloth napkin folded at the front pocket of the jacket, which seemed to flash a little too as the man strolled forward. “I swear that absolute _droid_ gets worse by the day.”

The man flopped down on the chair across from Anakin, looked at him as though to say _am I right?_

When Anakin didn’t respond right away, the stylist sighed and straightened himself. He stuck out a hand. “Artoo, at your service.”

“Anakin,” Anakin said, shaking the hand. He was surprised at the enthusiastic pump of Artoo’s hand before he settled back in his seat.

“So,” Artoo said, tilting his head to look at Anakin. “Look at you. District 3’s tribute. You know, we might actually stand a chance this year.” He rested his elbows on his knees, examined Anakin by tilting his head in the opposite direction. After a moment, he asked, “Are you afraid?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Anakin asked, exasperated. “I’m not.”

Artoo grinned. “I like that,” he said. “That’s good. Good attitude.” He looked at Anakin. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Are you going to make me look stupid?” Anakin asked, giving the flashing red cloth at Artoo’s pocket a pointed look.

Artoo didn’t seem to take any offense. “Of course not,” he said. “We want to make you look like a fucking _winner_ , don’t we?” He grinned, and Anakin noticed there was a gap between his teeth, which struck him odd, because most Capitol freaks seemed obsessed with making sure there were never any imperfections (or, at least, what they deemed were imperfections) amongst them whatsoever.

“District 3,” Artoo said. “You’re technology. You guys are the ones making our screens, our little techy doo-das.” He flashed a grin at Anakin and gestured around the room, where Anakin saw a television, reflective windows that could turn into screens, a laptop running without sound. Most of the tech that Anakin dealt with would go straight to the Capitol—none of it really ever remained in District 3, where the most people had was a radio, a battered television that still relied on antennae and showed grainy pictures.

“So you’re going to dress me up like a screen?” Anakin asked flatly.

Artoo laughed. “Fuck no, that’s gross.” He took something out of his pocket—a small, rectangular tablet that Anakin knew was a smartphone. One of the newer models. “Sleek, simple design,” Artoo said, slipping it between his hands. “But inside, a whole tangle of mechanism that the average Capitol citizen wouldn’t know if it meant saving their own fucking life.” He set the phone on the coffee table between them, grinned again, and Anakin wondered if perhaps this stylist was just a little mad.

“So,” Artoo said, looking at Anakin with that same bright smile, “how do you feel about getting paint?”

\--

Ahsoka wasn’t sure what to expect of her stylist—she had only ever met one Capitol person ever, and that had been her escort, who eventually named herself Ventress. For a moment, Ahsoka couldn’t believe that was her name, and she had spent a good second wondering when she would give her real name, but her escort had only flashed her a smile (bared her teeth, more like), and said, “That’s my name, pet. Going to laugh?”

Ahsoka had decided that she wasn’t going to bother asking. She had decided that she wasn’t going to bother asking Ventress any more questions than she absolutely had to, anyways. Ventress didn’t seem to care too much about giving any answers. Her first words to Ahsoka when she got on the train were, “oh, thank God you didn’t cry, I can’t stand the crying”, and Ahsoka hadn’t known whether to be relieved or annoyed at her callous tone.

The few other times Ahsoka had encountered Ventress were only ever at meal times on the train: Ventress always had her legs up on the table, and she seemed intent on stabbing at her food rather than cutting into them. Ahsoka thought that was odd, but when Ahsoka had apparently grabbed the wrong fork, Ventress snapped that she _at least eat with the right utensils, for the love of_ —

She didn’t get to finish whatever she was saying, because Rex had interrupted, bored, “Then at least get your feet off the table.”

Ventress had rolled her eyes, but she had swung her legs off the table eventually.

Ahsoka had the strange feeling not all Capitol people acted as Ventress did, but then again, how was she really supposed to know? The only other Capitol person Ahsoka had ever even somewhat knew was the escort before Ventress, and even then, it wasn’t like Ahsoka really _knew_ the previous escort.

So Ahsoka wasn’t exactly expecting her Capitol stylist to be just a girl like herself.

Well, maybe not a girl—maybe she was secretly much, much older, but the Capitol had some secret technology that could de-age a person. But the girl looked young enough, with shockingly purple hair grouped in two separate tresses down each side of her head. Her eyes—amber, surprisingly warm—looked young too, and when she came closer, Ahsoka found that her stylist was actually shorter than herself.

“Hello,” her stylist said now, smiling. “You must be Ahsoka.”

“That’s me,” Ahsoka said. She regarded her stylist warily. “And you’re—”

“Riyo Chuchi,” her stylist said. She gestured down to the couch. “You should take a seat.”

Ahsoka sat. She regarded Riyo warily. Her stylist was dressed plainly too, wearing only a deep purple blouse fashioned with golden buttons, a matching purple skirt. Besides the purple hair, Ahsoka wouldn’t have believed that her stylist was a Capitol person.

Riyo, to her credit, regarded Ahsoka with the same quiet carefulness. After a moment, Riyo smiled again. “That’s a lovely outfit.”

Ahsoka looked down at herself. She had chosen whatever clothes had been made available to her when she woke up this morning: a red shirt, grey pants. She had liked the colors, especially the red. She had tried to find her skirt— _her skirt_ , the one that had been given to her on her birthday, but it was nowhere to be found. Ahsoka had some suspicions that had been tossed out, and for a moment, she had felt utterly alone again.

“Thank you,” Ahsoka said.

“Do you have any concerns about the costume you’re to wear later?” Riyo asked.

“As long as you don’t make me go naked, we should be fine,” Ahsoka said. She turned away from Riyo, from those warm amber eyes that shouldn’t be warm because they were in the Capitol.

Ahsoka heard a quiet laugh. “Of course not,” Riyo said. “I would hate to be naked in public myself.”

Ahsoka turned back to Riyo to find her tugging out a smooth, flat device. A smartphone, Ahsoka realized. She had seen Ventress carry one around with herself, talking with someone in hushed tones. When Ahsoka came near, Ventress would glare at her and mouth _shoo_.

But Ahsoka had seen Rex with one too—Rex at least would turn off his phone and give her a little nod.

That was the other thing—Ahsoka found that she felt more comfortable around Rex, although she wasn’t sure if that was because he looked like her brothers or if it was because he was actually from her district. Most likely the former, even though it made Ahsoka feel like an idiot.

“I’ve been to your district once,” Riyo said now, and she slid her phone across the table to Ahsoka.

Ahsoka looked down. Photos of fields—all green and long and going for ages. Home, even with its stupid Peacekeepers and food shortages and power outages. She wondered if she could find her house nearby.

“Your costume will reflect your district—but most importantly, your home,” Riyo said. She slowly edged her phone away, and then she smiled at Ahsoka again: a smaller, sadder smile. “Do you have anything of home in particular that you would like to include?”

Ahsoka thought of the marigolds. She had tossed them out at the border line between District 11 and the next, and she had watched the flowers flutter briefly in the breeze before falling right on the tracks. She hoped that some other breeze would pick up the marigolds and bring them closer home.

Riyo was still watching Ahsoka.

Ahsoka shook her head.

\--

Obi-Wan had prepared himself for the worst when it came to meeting his stylist—he had met many Capitol people in his life, usually only in a brief exchange or two mostly because of District 1 doing the most business within the Capitol as well as the fact that his father was a Victor. Each time he met with someone from the Capitol, Obi-Wan was left with the same vague sense that he wouldn’t be able to recognize again should they ever meet again. There was always some new style Capitol people seemed to chase: new clothes, new jewelry, new hair, new face, new voice. Obi-Wan had once had the misfortune to meet a woman with what he was fairly certain were bug eyes— _literal bug eyes_ , all beady and black and too reflective—when he was a young boy, and he had nightmares for what felt like months on end.

If his stylist happened to have bug eyes, Obi-Wan wouldn’t be surprised. He’d prefer that there were no strange altercations of the eyes or animal implants in his stylist whatsoever, but then again, he was only supposed to deal with his stylist for a few days, and then he was off.

The doors slid open, and Obi-Wan sat up to find a young man—really, probably just a few years older than him, maybe even the same age as himself—stroll in. He had close-cropped black hair, deep brown skin, and Obi-Wan saw, most curiously, a scar snaking from his temple down to below his right eye. He didn’t think Capitol people were capable of having scars, or, at the very least, keeping them. He was dressed relatively simply too, with a black shirt tucked into black trousers. The only semi-eye-catching thing about his attire was his jacket: an off-white with a thin band of orange running down the sides.

“You’re here early,” were the stylist’s first words.

“As are you,” Obi-Wan replied. That much was true. Obi-Wan didn’t have to be here technically for another ten minutes, as per the time his stylist had requested. But neither Qui-Gon nor Satine had argued when Obi-Wan suggested he arrive early for his stylist.

His stylist now paused, assessing Obi-Wan with dark, alert eyes. “Well,” he said, “then I suppose we’re both prepared, aren’t we?”

“I suppose we are,” Obi-Wan replied mildly.

A beat of silence passed between them before his stylist finally sat down.

“I’m Cody,” his stylist said at last. “But I already know who you are.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Obi-Wan said anyways. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Cody gave Obi-Wan a sardonic smile, and Obi-Wan mirrored the expression. Obi-Wan supposed he could appreciate a little bit of that dry, dark humor in the unspoken words between them: _is it_ really _a pleasure?_ After all, from Cody’s perspective, Obi-Wan was surely nothing more than a lamb to be dressed before being sent to a slaughterhouse. And Obi-Wan—well, he wasn’t exactly sure what to make of Cody, except that he had a style and will of his own, judging by the scar and the clothes and the way Cody looked at Obi-Wan now.

Cody crossed a leg over his knee. “Well,” he said, “we’ll be getting started shortly, so if you’re ready…”

“I am,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Good.” Cody stood up, looked down at Obi-Wan with another smile—this one less sardonic, moreso amused. “I wasn’t what you expected.”

Obi-Wan considered his potential answers. He only looked up at Cody. “I suppose not.”

“Well.” Cody rested an elbow against the back of the chair he had just been sitting in. After a moment, he said, “You can ask, you know.” He gestured towards the side of his face “How I got this.”

Obi-Wan blinked. He hadn’t been expecting _that_.

“Everyone gets curious,” Cody said. “People get their little cuts fixed all the time around here. Easy. All the best medical attention in the country is right here, in this city.” He tilted his head at Obi-Wan’s. “So you have to be wondering.”

A moment passed. Another, another.

Obi-Wan leaned back in his own seat. Crossed his own leg over his knee. “I wasn’t wondering how you got it,” he said. “I was wondering why you keep it.” He nodded at Cody. “Like you said, all the best medical attention right here in this city. So you must have kept the scar for some reason.”

Cody regarded Obi-Wan with steady eyes. “Same reason I became a stylist,” he said. He pushed himself away from the chair, took a few steps back. “I like making impressions.”

Obi-Wan stood up as Cody started for the door. “And it seems, Obi-Wan Kenobi from District 1,” Cody said over his shoulder, “we’re about to make yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's my first day of classes, but not to worry, I'll stay on top of these updates because I have chapters pre-written and etc. As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	3. Impressions (Part Two)

“How do you feel?”

Anakin tilted his head at his own reflection. He was wearing a silver chest-piece, one that flashed and bounced back Anakin’s reflection from the mirror. The lower part of the piece was connected to what Anakin could only describe as links, like those in the fences that surrounded the districts. The links made up little crossed patterns against his abdomen, down to his thighs. They caught the light and sparked back at Anakin when he looked at them from the mirror. His pants were a little less subtle, made from a sheer grey fabric that was disconcertingly lighter than Anakin had ever worn before.

He glanced backwards at Artoo, who was standing in front of Padmé and Threepio with a smug little smile on his face.

“I won’t blind myself when I ride the chariot, will I?” Anakin asked, stepping down from the little stool he had been forced up while the other stylists had taken care of the last of his hair, his makeup. A green-haired stylist with eyelashes longer than Anakin’s fingernails had flecked silver and white paint around his eyes, while another stylist with a startlingly long nose and even longer fingers had dabbed silver powder across his cheeks. Anakin felt like he had been covered in frost by the time they were done. That, added with the already flashy silver and grey tones of his own costume gave him the appearance of some metal man.

And the most curious detail—Artoo had been the one to paint the silver lines and scars up Anakin’s arms himself. Anakin wasn’t sure what they were for other than to make him perhaps look more…interesting, but the shine in his stylist’s eyes made him suspect that there was something more to it.

“Of course not,” Artoo sniffed now. “I’ve made sure of all that already.”

Anakin glanced over at Padmé, who only nodded. “Very nicely done, Artoo,” she said. “You’ve outdone yourself once again.”

 _Once again_ —Anakin noted the genuine smile passed between Padmé and Artoo and suddenly remembered the costumes Padmé had worn during her own games. A memory of a shimmering grey and blue dress, silver armbands, silver headpiece. He couldn’t remember any of her other costumes, but as Anakin watched Padmé a moment longer, the memory of her own chariot ride seemed to grow clearer and clearer in his mind. Her hair had been put in two separate bunches around her head, Anakin remembered. Held in place by that silver headpiece.

Padmé glanced up at Anakin.

Anakin realized he was still staring.

He looked at Artoo. “Did you design Padmé’s costumes?”

“Of course I did,” Artoo huffed. “Who else?”

“Really, Artoo, you and your bragging and boasting,” Threepio said, shaking his head. “You really musn’t—”

“But I really must,” Artoo said. He gestured towards Anakin. “Look at him! He’ll be the shiniest one out of all the tributes! They’ll hate him!” His eyes shone again with that oddly strange, semi-mad look that Anakin wasn’t sure whether to like or not. “A twist on the knights of an ancient age—really, a classic, only minus the horrific helmets and the arms.” He nodded pointedly at Anakin’s arms which were still bare.

Padmé cleared her throat. “We need to go,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Right you are, right you are,” Threepio said hastily. He nervously twisted his hands, looked up at Anakin. “Come along then, we musn’t be late—really, we should have been a little early, but Artoo is always so intent on boasting—”

“Ah, just get on with it,” Artoo groaned, and then the four of them were walking out of the preparation chamber and down the hall, which led directly to the waiting chariots.

Padmé walked briskly alongside Anakin. “Remember,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, “this will be the first impression the other tributes will have of you. You might not have done anything yet—you haven’t shown them any of your skills or abilities or otherwise, but appearances are everything.” She turned to Anakin. “So whatever you do, make sure you don’t—”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” Anakin said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I was going to say don’t look intimidated,” Padmé replied. She shook her head, turned back around to the tunnel. “The other stylists love making a show of exactly who can whip up the most impressive costumes—for them, it’s really all a fashion contest, and the Capitol loves fashion contests. The image is everything.”

“Do I look like I get intimidated easily?” Anakin asked flatly.

Padmé glanced over at Anakin, her steps slowing briefly. For a moment, Anakin wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have asked that—maybe she didn’t appreciate the attitude, but Anakin was tired, and he was, if to be honest, already sick of wearing this stupid costume. He didn’t care if the light didn’t flash in his eyes or if it wasn’t heavy. The costume still felt wrong on his skin, and he still didn’t understand what the paint on his arms was meant for.

Padmé’s eyes flitted over Anakin’s face. A wrinkle appeared between her brows, and then she reached over with both hands. Set them on Anakin’s shoulders.

Anakin braced himself, but Padmé only propped up his shoulders, and then she was walking behind him, pushing at him lightly from the back. “Don’t stick out your chest completely,” she said, and Anakin was suddenly aware of how brief her touches were, the warmth of her fingers flitting around his biceps and the space between his shoulder blades. “But you’ve got a broader frame than most, so you might as well use it to your advantage.”

Padmé stepped back in front of Anakin. She looked up at him again, her lips pressed together. They were a darker shade than normal, Anakin noticed.

“Perfect,” Padmé said. Her eyes traveled back up to Anakin’s face. “Now come on—before Artoo or Threepio pop a vessel.”

\--

“What do you think?”

Ahsoka wanted to hate it. She probably should hate it, because the dress reminded her so much of home. At first glance, Ahsoka’s costume looked relatively simple: a deep brown dress that was only a shade lighter than her own skin. She didn’t have any sleeves, but two long swaths of the same brown fabric trailed from Ahsoka’s shoulders and floated around her arms, giving off the illusion of sleeves that were just cut open for some air. At least, that was what Ahsoka thought of it.

But then, when Ahsoka blinked, the dress started to shimmer and gradient itself into green—multiple greens, feathery greens, and then Ahsoka was looking at a moving picture of plants poking from the deep soil until her whole dress was nothing more than streaks of light and dark greens.

But then Ahsoka would blink again, and the dress would gradient again: no longer were green, but now the faintest of yellow light that intensified into a metallic gold, until the only thing that Ahsoka could see the last of the green crops withering into that strange color.

“They’re dead,” Ahsoka said, watching the last green crop sicken into the yellow color.

“No,” Riyo said. She nodded, and Ahsoka watched as the yellow was supplanted by the deep brown again. Rich, brown soil. “It all repeats itself. Death brings life, too.”

Ahsoka looked at Riyo, unsure how to interpret those last words.

“Optimistic,” she decided to say. She turned back to her reflection and found Rex and Ventress. The two had been mostly quiet while the stylists had prepped the rest of her. Ventress had snapped a few times only then, commenting to “keep the makeup light, we need to actually see her face”. In the end, the stylists had obeyed, sticking only to a few dusts of powder, a neutral lip color that made Ahsoka feel like her whole mouth was coated in wax. Even Ahsoka’s nails were painted—a sheer gold, much more metallic than the rest of her. She contemplated the way they shone against her skin, and a small part of her actually liked the color, the contrast of the gold against her own dark tones.

 _I can always look at my nails_ , Ahsoka thought, stepping down from the stool. She had been relieved that she hadn’t had to wear any ridiculously high shoes either, not like the ones that were apparently considered high-fashion in the Capitol. Riyo had presented her with a pair of golden sandals instead, ones that made crossed pattern across her feet and reached her ankles. Ahsoka didn’t think anyone would even see her shoes, but still—she was a little glad at how nice they were.

That was another thing Ahsoka wasn’t too sure of: the dress _was_ nice, and so were her nails and her makeup and her shoes, and she _felt_ nice. She felt pretty, and she could hear her brothers’ voices in her heads— _make us pretty!_ —and then she suddenly felt homesick, because she could see herself twirling in this dress in front of her family, and her dad would be clapping his hands, and her brothers would be laughing and spinning her around amongst them. That was what they had done when she got that red skirt, but that red skirt was gone now, along with the marigolds and everything else that had reminded her of home.

But that wasn’t quite true either, because Rex was standing in front of Ahsoka too, and even if Rex wasn’t _really_ Ahsoka’s brother, he still came from District 11, and that counted enough as a piece of home.

Rex nodded once. He looked to Riyo. “She doesn’t look too old,” he said. “Just sophisticated enough.”

“That was the plan,” Riyo replied, giving Ahsoka an appraising look. She smiled, brushed a bit of imaginary dust from Ahsoka’s shoulder. Ahsoka knew it had to be imaginary because there could never be any dust in the Capitol. “You look beautiful.”

“And beautiful things are underestimated,” Riyo added, stepping away. She smiled again, and this time, Ahsoka wondered if perhaps her stylist was more on her side than she had given her credit for.

“Yes, yes, a pretty little thing,” Ventress said, snapping her fingers at Ahsoka, Riyo. “Now let’s go. One thing to be beautiful, but another thing to be late.”

“Of course,” Riyo said, and she took a step aside. Waiting for her to walk through, Ahsoka realized.

Ahsoka took a few steps forward, and then Rex fell in beside her. She heard Ventress and Riyo behind her, and then they were walking out the room, through a long, dark hall that was only lit at the very end. Already, though, Ahsoka could hear the cheers and roaring of the crowds beyond, the frantic chittering and chattering of stylists making last-second preparations for the tributes. A cold wind flew by the tunnel, and Ahsoka shivered, suddenly wishing that she actually had sleeves instead.

“When you’re out there,” Rex said suddenly, “make sure to smile.”

Ahsoka blinked. She turned to Rex.

“You smiled when you were reaped,” he said. “That was a good move. You looked young. You looked your age.” He looked at her carefully. In the dimly-lit tunnel, his eyes looked even darker, more intense. “But I have a feeling you already know that.”

She did.

Ahsoka remembered how she had waved, how she had twirled her hair. _People weren’t afraid of her_.

“So do that again,” Rex said. “Look happy. Look like the cheerful little girl who has no idea what’s about to happen.”

 _That’s easy_ , Ahsoka thought. She’d been doing that her whole life. Stealing things when no one was looking, keeping a neutral, innocent face whenever the Peacekeepers walked over to her and demanded what she had seen. She could play the dumb little girl for a little while longer.

She nodded.

\--

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Obi-Wan met Cody’s gaze in the mirror. His stylist looked pleasantly pleased, his hands tucked in his pockets, but there was nothing quite casual about the gesture. Obi-Wan still noticed the squared shoulders that his stylist wore like armor. He was still waiting for an answer, and he wanted an answer.

“What use are pennies,” Obi-Wan said dryly, “when I’m covered with these?” He gestured at himself, where his whole front—bare skin from waist up—was studded and starred with glittering, gleaming diamonds. He hadn’t been sure they were real diamonds at first, but then he heard one of the other stylists coo and murmur at the exact weight of them, and then he realized that they were, in fact, ridiculously real. The diamonds traced from Obi-Wan’s navel to the base of his throat, where they spread out like a fan around his collarbone and shoulders.

And from there, a long, white cape held up by diamond clasps hung from Obi-Wan’s shoulders and draped down and around his back, whispered around his ankles. Obi-Wan had caught the flash of diamonds on the cape too, but the material hadn’t felt heavy, even though he knew that those were real diamonds, too. Really, he should be weighted down by now, but special Capitol technology made the clothing weightless.

The pants, thankfully, were simple: white, no particular sheen to them. Wasn’t needed, Obi-Wan supposed. Anything more would have been much.

“True,” Cody replied. He clapped his hands together, made a motioning gesture at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan turned around completely so that he would be facing away from his reflection and instead looking at Qui-Gon and Satine.

Both of Satine’s eyebrows lifted briefly, but then she consulted her pad. “We have ten minutes,” she said crisply. “We’ll need to leave soon.”

“Thank you, Satine,” Qui-Gon said. He looked at Obi-Wan questioningly. “And how does the costume feel? Can you move?”

“Perfectly,” Obi-Wan replied. He reached up to adjust the clasps at his shoulders, but Cody batted his hands away.

“Everything is in its place for a purpose,” Cody said. “Don’t even think about moving anything.”

“Apologies,” Obi-Wan replied, only partially meaning it. He glanced over at Cody again. “Is this your first costume you’ve designed?”

“Yes,” Cody replied. “So be glad.” He took a step back and nodded, satisfied.

“Ten minutes, you said,” Obi-Wan said, looking to Satine. “Are we to leave now?”

“Yes,” Satine replied shortly. She didn’t bother looking up from her pad as she turned for the doors. Her heels clicked against the ground as she went, and Obi-Wan registered that with her heels, she was a bit taller than him. He wasn’t wearing any heeled shoes himself—only a white pair of boots that slipped underneath his trousers.

Obi-Wan followed Satine out the door and into the tunnel, aware of Qui-Gon and Cody both behind him. The tunnel was dark, the only light being at the very end. But Satine walked confidently, each step sure and precise, even as her head was still tilted down at the pad in her hands.

“You’ll be riding out first, naturally,” Satine said over her shoulder. Her golden curls were pinned up this time in a bun at the top of her head, held in place by a glittering band of diamonds, Obi-Wan now realized. Matching, even though she wasn’t a tribute herself. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure whether to feel insulted or not by that. “All the chariot rides go by order of the district.”

“I’ve watched the chariots before,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “So no need to explain that detail.”

“You’ll also be closest to President Palpatine,” Satine said, ignoring Obi-Wan’s comment. “At his right hand. Make sure you nod to him first—the Capitol always love being reminded that District 1 is their closest pet.”

Obi-Wan noted that Satine said _the Capitol_ instead of _we_. He watched the back of Satine’s head curiously. She had to be a Capitol person, judging by the accent and the fashion and her clipped demeanor, but still, he couldn’t help but puzzle over that one detail.

“Don’t you mean _you_ love being reminded of District 1 being the Capitol’s pet?” he asked.

Satine tossed a look over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I mean the Capitol,” she said flatly. “Right now, I am your escort, and right now, I need you to win, and that is my first priority.” She turned back around, and Obi-Wan had the feeling that if her hair was down, it would have flipped right into his face.

Obi-Wan huffed out a small breath, moreso out of amusement than anything else.

“Now hurry up,” Satine said, her heels clicking faster against the ground. “I can already smell those stupid horses.”

\--

Anakin’s eyes hurt from looking at all the chariots and costumes and flashing lights.

But he still followed Artoo and Threepio to the District 3 chariot—a metallic silver thing with two grey-flecked horses waiting at the front. Artoo and Threepio were still bickering about something, although Anakin couldn’t tell what about or if it was of any genuine importance. Judging by Padmé’s expression, the bickering wasn’t anything to worry about.

“Take a look around,” she murmured, and she should have been impossible to hear over the din of the horses stamping their feet and the stylists shouting at each other and the thundering crowd, but somehow, Anakin could still hear her voice as though it were in his head.

Anakin started to look, but Padmé grabbed the area just above his wrist, her fingers carefully curled out of the way so that it wouldn’t come in contact with the silver paint. “Not _obviously_ ,” she hissed. “Take a _slow_ look around.”

That was the second time Padmé had touched him in just the last few minutes, Anakin realized dully.

But he forced himself to look around without moving his head. In the chariot to his right, he saw a cruel-faced young man who couldn’t have been that much older than himself. He wore red and black tattoos that stood stark against his skin, and he wore nothing but black armor that seemed to glow and gleam like an ember. District 2.

He looked to his left, where there was another young man—maybe a year or two younger than Anakin, though he couldn’t be sure. He was big, bigger than Anakin, with even broader shoulders and even more height. He wore something that Anakin figured was supposed to resemble some kind of net, exposing his competitor’s toned muscles. District 4.

Anakin flicked his eyes farther down the line of chariots. The costumes all seemed to blur together, to be honest: swaths of shining fabric and elaborate looking headpieces and a mixture of frightened and nervous and angry eyes that all told Anakin who exactly were ready for the games and who had already given up.

Anakin suddenly felt the grip around his wrist relax, but when he looked down, Padmé’s determined expression hadn’t changed. She was, however, looking elsewhere, past Artoo and Threepio and District 2. Anakin followed her gaze and found what she was looking at—or _whom_ she was looking at.

District 1.

Anakin spotted the escort first: a young woman with a blonde bun sitting on top of her head, carrying a touchscreen pad and swiping furiously through the screens.

And then he spotted the tribute.

Anakin had seen the recording of the reaping with Padmé and Threepio, noted some of the faces, but really, everything had been a blur—but District 1 was a face to remember, because Anakin knew that once he stepped in the arena, it was District 1 who had the highest advantage.

 _He could kill me_ , was Anakin’s first thought when District 1’s eyes flickered to meet his.

From this distance, Anakin could tell District 1’s eyes were a sharp grey, the kind that seemed to cut across the row of tributes down the line.

 _I won’t let him_ , was Anakin’s second thought when District 1’s eyes flicked to him again. District 1’s expression remained cool, and then he was following his escort to his chariot.

A moment later, Anakin saw two people come out from the tunnel entrance: a young man with close-cropped black hair and dark eyes, followed by an older man with a dark brown, grey-streaked beard. Judging by the clothes, Anakin could tell that the younger man was the stylist—the older man was the mentor.

And then the man was turning to the side, surveying the others just as his tribute had done—but Anakin noticed that his eyes lingered briefly over himself, and for a heart-stopping moment, Anakin wondered if—

But no, the man was _nodding_ at him, and Anakin was about to nod back—what else was he supposed to do?—when he felt the movement next to him and realized stupidly that it was _Padmé_ the man had recognized. Which Anakin figured made sense, since the two of them were both Victors, but still…Anakin didn’t think District 3 and District 1 were ever on friendly terms with each other.

As though to prove Anakin’s own point, District 1 looked down from his chariot and glanced briefly at Anakin again. Anakin kept his face expressionless as District 1 looked at him. He narrowed his eyes, silently daring him to look away first.

District 1 eventually did, the expression on his face still stony and cool.

 _No, definitely not friends_ , Anakin decided.

\--

Ahsoka’s arms were cold from all the air buffeting around the small track.

Even despite the fact that there were so many people here— _so_ many people, filling up the stands from every single angle and direction, along with all the stylists and tributes and their mentors and escorts—Ahsoka still felt too cold, and she fidgeted a little bit with her open sleeve contraptions. She cast a sidelong glance at Rex, who was wearing nothing but a grey shirt, one that hugged his own biceps but, like Ahsoka, no long sleeves.

Ahsoka briefly wondered what costume he wore. She tried to remember, but she found that she couldn’t. She must have been too young to remember his specific games. Ahsoka wondered if maybe her brothers remembered Rex’s games—if they had been at all surprised at seeing their near exact similarities.

“Don’t dawdle now,” Rex said, catching Ahsoka looking at him. He nodded towards the chariot in front of them: a golden thing, chained to a pair of two yellow horses.

Ahsoka glanced at either side of her—at the other tributes, who kept trying to sneak glances at each other as well. Trying to sort out the competition, she knew. Ahsoka figured she could be worse off: she could be standing between District 2 and District 4, which usually bred the victors. She would hate to be the person from District 3.

She looked to her right, where District 12’s black chariot waited beside her. There was a young boy there—younger than even her, with bright green eyes and a shock of dark hair. He was wearing all black, from his shoes to his neck, and Ahsoka noticed him talking to a young girl behind him. It took a moment for Ahsoka to remember that that young girl had to be the victor from last year—Katooni, she remembered. The twelve year old who had somehow managed to win the 74th Hunger Games.

Ahsoka watched curiously now, both confused and in awe at the young girl standing just a few meters away from her. Katooni was much smaller than Ahsoka expected. She remembered the Victory Tour, how Katooni had been wearing heeled shoes that seemed too old for her young face, but now, without the shoes, Ahsoka felt something twist in her stomach. This victor was even younger than herself.

Ahsoka forced her gaze away from District 12 and to her left, where District 10’s tribute was already standing atop his bronze chariot. He was wearing a strange, broad-rimmed hat, and a piece of what Ahsoka was fairly certain was hay was sticking out of his mouth. Ahsoka wasn’t sure if that was a part of District 10’s costume—District 10 being livestock and all, but even with the lazy bob of the stick of hay in District 10’s mouth, Ahsoka sensed that there was nothing lazy or casual about her neighbor.

“Ahsoka,” Rex said.

“Right,” Ahsoka said as District 10 turned his head towards her. She whipped her eyes away, smiled sweetly up at Rex. “Can you help me up?”

She heard a huff from behind her. _Good_. Just a silly little girl who still needed assistance with the smallest things.

Ahsoka let go of Rex’s hand as soon as her feet were safely settled on the chariot. She could better see the crowds and the track before her now. At the very end of the smooth, grey track, Ahsoka could see the dais from where she guessed President Palpatine would receive and welcome them. She didn’t see anyone there now, not that she could tell, anyways. The dais was too far away, but she was pretty sure she could see a few Capitol attendants readying the area.

Ahsoka turned her attention to either side of the track instead. She saw more color and light than she had ever seen in her whole life, but she couldn’t make out the faces of those who were supposed to be cheering for the tributes. Cheering, Ahsoka wondered, or calling for their blood? Because that was what was going to become of them in a few days, anyways.

Ahsoka glanced down the line of tributes. She could see some faces ranging in expressions of worry and fear, while others were completely shut off. Ahsoka thought she saw someone smiling though, a shy little smile that spoke of some modesty. District 8.

Ahsoka caught the owner of the smile: a girl that was probably just a little older than she was, a piece of cloth covering her head and a splash of dark freckles across her face.

For a moment, Ahsoka wasn’t sure what to do.

 _Smile back_ , she thought.

She did, and she waved.

_Play along._

\--

Obi-Wan’s hands hurt from where he clenched the edge of his chariot, but he knew that if he let go, there was a very good chance that he might go flying off, especially with his cape dragging behind him like that.

But the citizens of the Capitol didn’t notice Obi-Wan’s iron grip on the edge of his chariot, not as he lifted a hand and waved. He could hear the rumble only of his own chariot beneath him, but the ride itself was smooth. He kept waving, kept on a cool, confident smile even as faces blurred past. He couldn’t tell one Capitol face from the other, not with all of their ridiculous haircuts and clothes and accessories and face implants, but he knew that that didn’t matter to them. All that mattered for them was that he remain looking like the shiny new District 1 tribute for them to fawn over for the duration of the games.

And Cody had made sure that Obi-Wan would remain the center of attention, it seemed, because as the chariot slowed to the front of the dais, he could now more distinctly hear the cheers at him rather than for him. Even without the sudden wind of the rushing chariot, Obi-Wan’s cape still fluttered around him, only just barely touching his actual back.

As the chariot pulled to a stop at the right hand of the dais, Obi-Wan could see and feel all the eyes directed at his bare torso, his chest, up to his neck, where all the diamonds remained intact. Obi-Wan felt something twist inside of him at the strangely hungry looks of the Capitol people in front of him, and once again, he was unpleasantly reminded of the one Capitol person with the strange black bug eyes, but there were no bug eyes here. Just strange Capitol people looking like they wanted to eat him or worse.

But Obi-Wan’s smile remained unmoved. He managed a little tilt of the head in the general direction in front of him, and he heard a series of cries and shouts go up before him. Really, that might have been more embarrassing for the Capitol people than anything else, but they didn’t seem ashamed at all.

Obi-Wan heard a quiet laugh from beside him. He flicked his eyes to the chariot that had just pulled up beside him: District 2, with that black body armor. He found amber—nearly yellow, in this light—eyes looking straight back at him, and the tribute bared his teeth in a yellowing smile.

Obi-Wan only turned swiftly back to the crowd and waited for the other tributes to file in order. He caught District 3 and automatically tightened his grip at the edge of the chariot. Obi-Wan had been puzzled to find Qui-Gon nodding at the District 3 mentor, and he wondered if the two knew each other—but the look the District 3 tribute gave Obi-Wan told him that he wasn’t at all interested in any commonality between the two.

District 3 had been the one to help up the boy who fainted, Obi-Wan remembered as he watched the tribute pull his chariot over. He was dressed in a silver, glassy chest-piece, and his muscled arms were painted with silver. He looked better than most tributes that came from District 3—and he looked a little stronger and more determined than most tributes from District 3, even now, as Obi-Wan briefly locked eyes with him.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but District 3 seemed determined not to look away first.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help it: a corner of his lips twitched at the ferocity in District 3’s eyes. Now this one was going to be interesting.

Down the line, Obi-Wan watched more tributes come to a stop in front of the dais. District 4 wearing a ridiculous net (but that probably didn’t matter for the Capitol people—District 4 was built like a mountain, all glistening muscles and strong hands and rippling skin), District 5 wearing a dark brown top that exposed her midriff, a dark brown skirt that flashed with lightning every few seconds. After a while, the costumes mostly seemed to blend together: just flashing lights and metallic hues, all except for one, and that was District 11, standing in the chariot almost across from Obi-Wan.

A small girl, that was what District 11 was, wearing a dress that seemed to shift from brown to green to gold in a matter of moments. Her sleeves fluttered around her wrists, and like Obi-Wan’s own cape, they continued to curl and dance about her even without the breeze of the chariot. The girl was openly beaming, and Obi-Wan remembered that _yes_ , this was the girl who had been smiling and waving when she had been selected. She was blowing kisses at the people behind Obi-Wan, looking absolutely delighted to be there.

Obi-Wan didn’t buy one second of it.

And then there was a shift in the crowds, a sudden quiet, and Obi-Wan lifted his head to find that President Palpatine had appeared at last.

He was an old gentleman, one with white hair curling at the sides of his head. He smiled, and for a moment, he might have looked like anyone’s kindly grandfather—a kindly grandfather who wore a sharp red suit and looked at the tributes as though they were all his favorite grandchild.

But Obi-Wan also knew that this kindly looking man was also the same one who enforced the games, just like those who had come before him.

That made him no different.

The president looked around the tributes, and just as Satine had suggested, Obi-Wan found himself giving President Palpatine a nod. The president, to no great surprise, nodded back at Obi-Wan with a delighted little look in his icy eyes.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice soft but carrying, “to the 75th Annual Hunger Games. We are—”

But Palpatine didn’t get to finish, because there was a sudden hum—one that Obi-Wan wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t so close to him. He stayed still, tried to pretend that he didn’t notice any sounds at all. Really, it could have been something coming from the president’s microphone, but then he heard District 2 shuffling next to him, saw the puzzled looks exchanged between the other tributes.

But President Palpatine didn’t seem to care. “The third Quarter Quell,” he continued, and then—

A shriek cut above Palpatine’s voice, and suddenly, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell what he was hearing or who he was looking at or _anything_ , just that there was an awful sound that reached into his skull, and suddenly he was leaning against the edge of the chariot, his head ringing and his knees buckling and—

He heard similar shouts and moans all around him, and Obi-Wan lifted his head up to find the girl from District 11 dangling at the edge of her chariot, mouth hanging open but eyes alert. She wasn’t looking at Obi-Wan—she was looking at elsewhere, somewhere to his right—

And Obi-Wan forced himself up from the edge of his chariot, turned, and saw District 3, lit up like a beacon. Obi-Wan almost couldn’t see him: only silver and white light poured off from him, and then Obi-Wan remembered _the paint_ , there had to have been something in the paint—

Another shriek, this one louder, and Obi-Wan realized it wasn’t coming from District 3 himself. It was the sound of something _mechanical_ —something hissing and popping, and it was all _too much_ —

He saw District 3’s face, the stricken, stunned expression in his eyes, but no fear. District 3 only looked down at his arms in silent surprise, his hands twisting around as he tried to get a better look at whatever—

Obi-Wan saw the spark first. A brilliant blue spark, electricity, spanning up District 3’s painted wrists up his arm up his shoulder, and then he saw another spark, this time brighter, bolder, and then the spark searing into District 3’s forearm, leaving behind an already reddening burn—

District 3’s face twitched, but besides that, if he felt any pain—

 _That won’t last forever_ , Obi-Wan thought as another spark flew.

And then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. The young girl in the chariot across from him—District 11—had hopped down from her chariot, and she was running around the semicircle of chariots, her hands blindly tugging at the sleeves at her arms. For a moment, Obi-Wan could only stare, and then he realized—

The other tributes were staring numbly at District 11 as she bolted forward, stepped up to District 3’s chariot. Obi-Wan saw her lips move, saw her eyes widen, and then he realized that the child was too close, too close, even as she tore off her sleeve and started to wrap it around District 3’s arm, trying to dampen the sparks, but then the spark had jumped from District 3 to District 11, and Obi-Wan saw the matching burn there—

The ripped sleeve wasn’t enough. Too little cloth, too many sparks.

Obi-Wan glanced up at the president, who was watching the whole spectacle with some mild interest. As though this, too, was just an interesting dance. So were the other Capitol civilians. The initial shock had died down, and now everyone was watching with mild interest as District 11 and District 3 grappled with the sparks—

 _This is getting nowhere_ , Obi-Wan thought. He glanced around at the other tributes. Most were looking on with some panic, while others were still dangling from their chariots, still clearly dizzy from the sudden burst of sound and light. The tribute beside him, meanwhile, seemed almost amused.

Obi-Wan was not.

Before he could fully process what he was doing, Obi-Wan had stepped out of his own chariot. His hands found the clasps of the cape around his shoulders, yanked them off. He ignored the cold wind that swept past him, not daring to show even the slightest flicker of shock or surprise on his face. Bored. He had to look bored.

Well-aware of everyone’s eyes on him now, Obi-Wan flung the cape over District 3 and District 11. An abrupt spark, a hiss, and then—

Obi-Wan turned back around, headed back up to his chariot. He didn’t dare turn around.

But when he got back up on the chariot, he found that the light had died down. There were no more small sparks, just District 3 and District 11 looking equally stunned as Obi-Wan settled into his position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	4. Impressions (Part Three)

Anakin was the first one awake in the District 3 quarters. He wasn’t surprised—he was used to being up early, along with everyone else in his district.

He padded across the main living quarters. There had been some fanfare last night, mostly with Anakin stumbling up to the room while Artoo cackled at his heels. Threepio had been tutting about worriedly the whole way, and for once, Anakin couldn’t really blame him. Padmé, on the other hand, had seemed perfectly calm, and save for a look of disproval at Artoo, there hadn’t been much discussed.

Anakin, on the other hand, had been sure to let his feelings known.

“Were you _trying_ to burn me alive?” Anakin asked.

Artoo had scoffed. “Of course not,” he said. “What do you think I am, crazy?”

 _Yes_ , Anakin thought.

“You weren’t ever going to _burn_ ,” Artoo had said, patting Anakin’s shoulder. “Those sparks would have died eventually. But the other tributes’ reactions—and _everyone’s_ reactions—that was the real showstopper. Including that little stunt from District 11 and District 1—everyone’s got their eyes on you now.”

There was that. Anakin didn’t know what to make of the sudden jump from the District 11 girl. Just that she had shown up at his side, and then Anakin had just enough time to think, _well, at least we both look stupid_ before District 1 showed up. Anakin didn’t know what to make of _him_ , either, except when the chariots circled back around, District 1 didn’t so much as give them a second glance when they all retreated back to their mentors and stylists.

“That wasn’t exactly how I wanted to get everyone’s eyes,” Anakin had said, and then he’d gone off to bed, eager to wash the paint off his arms. He still didn’t know what had been in the thing, and he didn’t really want to know. Actually, knowing what little Anakin knew of Artoo, there could be something toxic in that paint.

So fine, Artoo’s stunt might have given Anakin more attention than the average tribute, but Anakin wasn’t about to tell his manic stylist that just yet.

Anakin made his way into the dining area and snagged an apple off the fruit bowl. That was something he was still trying to get used to too—the fact that there was just food lying around everywhere. He had just taken a bite out of the apple when heard quiet footsteps behind him, and Anakin turned around to find Padmé walking to the dining room with arms folded behind her back. But she wasn’t looking at him—she was speaking quietly with an attendant, one of the tongue-less Capitol servants who Anakin sometimes had difficulty making eye-contact with.

There was an exchanged nod between the two, and then the attendant dashed off. Padmé turned to Anakin and smiled briefly. “He’s getting us some actual food,” she said, nodding to the apple in Anakin’s hand.

“This is food,” Anakin said. He was surprised to hear how defensive he sounded, and he knew that Padmé heard it too, because her expression softened.

“I know,” Padmé said simply. “But you’ll be training for the first time today, and you’ll probably need something a little more substantial than just an apple.”

 _Training_.

Before Anakin could think of a response, the attendant returned, followed on his heels by Artoo and Threepio. The attendant silently laid out a selection of plates onto the shining table: breads and meats and eggs and porridges that Anakin didn’t even know existed in certain colors, and then mugs of dark brown and green and orange liquids that seemed like they would never stop steaming.

“We have such a busy day,” Threepio was already fretting, ignoring the cup of orange liquid Artoo passed him. “Training is only in forty minutes— _only forty minutes_ , and Anakin isn’t even properly dressed—”

“I’m dressed,” Anakin said defensively, looking down at his shirt, his pants.

“He’s talking about your training clothes,” Artoo said around a mouthful of a bread roll. They weren’t like the rolls Anakin had back home, not even like the nicer rolls. Anakin picked one up. Flakier, weirdly greasier in his hand. He took a bite: warm, rich. The bread melted right onto Anakin’s tongue like it was made out of nothing at all.

He decided that he liked it.

“Croissants,” Padmé said, scooting another roll on Anakin’s plate. “I like them, too.”

Anakin hadn’t realized that he had been smiling. “They’re…good,” he said dumbly.

“Well, make sure to have something else too,” Padmé said. She plucked out a croissant for herself, scooped up a pile of eggs. “As for training,” she added, picking up her fork, “test out any new skills that you can. Survival skills would be the most helpful.”

“And fighting?” Anakin asked, thinking of all the games that ended in blood. A sword driven through the stomach, an arrow lodged into the throat, a knife plunged into the chest. All gruesome ways to die, all done with weapons. Sometimes bare fists. Anakin remembered a Hunger Games in which the victor won by smashing someone’s head into a pile of bricks.

Padmé looked at Anakin, her dark eyes flicking up and down his frame. “You’re bigger and probably stronger than most of the tributes,” she said decidedly. “Pick up a fighting skill or two if you have to—but don’t overexert yourself in any one particular field. People will be watching.” She cleared her throat and looked to the table. “Now eat.”

\--

Ahsoka tugged at her training clothes. All the tributes apparently wore the same training clothes, so there was no need to worry about looking more impressive than whoever. Still, Ahsoka couldn’t help but wish she was wearing something more familiar. The black fabric was too smooth and cool for her own liking, and she hoped she wouldn’t be wearing something like this when she actually went into the arena.

 _The arena_.

She was training for the arena today.

“Any experience with weapons?” Rex asked her before they headed out of the apartment.

Ahsoka tried to think. There were the occasional fake sword battles she would have with her brothers with sticks, but she didn’t think that counted. “No,” she replied. “I can run fast, though.”

“That’s good,” Rex replied seriously. “That’s something. Focus on that. And try learning how to use a weapon you can carry around while you’re running—something that won’t drag you down too much. Something like knives. Those are easier to come by in the arena. Swords are bulkier and more expensive.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Anything else?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to make some allies,” Rex said. He gestured out the door, and Ahsoka followed him into the hallway. “People still think you’re friendly. Your little interruption with the chariots the other day has solidified that image, too.”

Her little interruption—meaning Ahsoka’s brief escape into District 3’s chariot. She hadn’t really known what she was doing, just that she had seen the sparks and felt the sudden shift amongst the tributes, and then she was running forward. Ahsoka hadn’t really been thinking about her image, but now that Rex said it, Ahsoka decided that it was a good thing that she had run forward after all.

“And don’t show off,” Rex said. He looked down at Ahsoka, and as she opened her mouth to protest, he lifted up a hand. “I know you’re probably used to _not_ showing off in the first place—and I know that you’re smarter than you’re letting on. But in the training room, there will be tributes who try to get under your skin. Tributes who will try to get you to expose yourself and find out what your weak points are. So no matter how tempting it might be, _don’t_ show off. Don’t let them know what you’re capable of. That’s something that you’ll show the game makers later.” Rex bowed his head down so that he was looking directly into Ahsoka’s eyes. “Do you understand?”

Ahsoka paused. And then she nodded.

“Good,” Rex said, and then they stepped into the elevator—an _elevator_ , which was new to Ahsoka’s vocabulary. Sleek and shiny and weirdly medicinal, and by the time the doors opened again, Ahsoka had schooled her expression back into one of quiet naiveté.

Rex took one look at her and for a moment, Ahsoka thought he was going to smile. But then he cleared his throat and gestured out the doors. “Don’t show off,” he repeated, and then he was gone too.

Ahsoka turned herself back around. She could already hear the other tributes inside.

She stepped through the glass doors.

Just as she had suspected, there were at least half of the tributes already there: all of them familiar faces, all of them with the numbers of their districts stitched onto the tops of their shirts. Ahsoka herself fingered the _11_ stitched onto her shirt and made her way a little apart from the tributes. All of them were a little separated from each other anyways, all of them exchanging wary looks at one another.

Well, all of them except for one.

Ahsoka found District 1 standing at the farthest right of the cluster of tributes. He wasn’t even looking at the other tributes or at the training room. He had a book in his hand, and for a moment, Ahsoka wondered if District 1 would look up at her, but he seemed intent on his book.

Ahsoka found herself standing closest to the girl she had managed to smile at on the chariots—the girl from District 8, with the head-covering and the freckles across her nose. Ahsoka wondered if she could smile again now, and then the girl from District 8 looked up, and they were looking at each other for perhaps a second too long, so—

Ahsoka smiled anyways. And waved. A small, quiet wave, just like she had given at the chariots.

And the girl, to Ahsoka’s small delight and also small dread, smiled back—what Ahsoka imagined was an equally small, equally quiet smile of her own, and for a moment, Ahsoka felt a small thrill ( _see, I made a friend!_ ) before the doors opened for more tributes to come filing in.

Ahsoka turned around to see District 2 and District 4 come strolling through first. They looked like an odd pair, and Ahsoka found it even odder that the two of them would come in together, but she supposed that they must have created an alliance quickly. District 4 was a broad-shouldered, tall young man rather than boy—Ahsoka could practically feel the ground shaking underneath his feet as he practically stomped forward. Meanwhile, District 2 seemed to nearly glide across the ground, a strange little smile already spread across his lips. Ahsoka made sure to look away when he walked up.

The doors opened a moment later to reveal the boy from District 12. He looked half-awake, his hair sticking up on end, but he still staggered in a half-second before the doors opened again for what Ahsoka knew had to be the head trainer.

“Looks like most of you are here,” the trainer said in a bored voice. “We’re just waiting for…” She craned her head over the group and frowned. “District 3.”

As soon as she said those words, the doors slid open, and Ahsoka found herself watching with everyone else as District 3 came barreling in.

“Here,” District 3 said, and Ahsoka glanced past the doors in time to see what she was fairly certain was a golden-suited man with flailing arms. Ahsoka frowned in time to see a hand yank the golden-suited man away.

“Here,” District 3 repeated, and then he was walking quickly towards the end of the cluster of tributes, towards—

Ahsoka lifted her eyes briefly to District 3 as he settled a few feet away from her. He looked a little different without all that silver makeup on. Ahsoka could tell that his skin was actually a little warmer than the weird pale blend it had been the night before, and she wondered if he recognized her at all too.

 _Maybe he shouldn’t_ , Ahsoka thought, turning back around to the head trainer.

\--

Obi-Wan knew that he technically didn’t need the training at all. He had had enough of his own training with Qui-Gon and on his own, but still, he knew that this was as good a time to observe as any. And he might as well brush up on his own skills and learn something. He had snagged the book on plants fairly quickly, and none of the training attendants or even the head trainer herself had told him off, so Obi-Wan continued to read until everyone was settled into the training room.

He found himself lingering near the survival section fairly early in the training period: looking through plants and perfecting methods on how to start a fire even though he knew it all. As he did so, he looked across the survival section to find District 3 similarly starting a fire. He had gone about it in a different method, and now he sat back on his haunches, looking almost bored.

 _Bored is dangerous_ , Obi-Wan thought, re-focusing on the small fire in front of him. Being bored meant that there was relaxation, and where there was relaxation, there was room for error.

Obi-Wan stood up, threw some dirt on the fire to put it out. He took another look around the training room, this time to where there were tributes were already handling weapons. District 4 was expertly handling a double-edged blade, his movements just as heavy and as powerful as Obi-Wan suspected they’d be. District 2 was doing the same, only his movements were a little lither, though just as aggressive. Obi-Wan heard the clang of their blades against each other, the brutal laughter that followed.

He re-focused on the other side of the training room, where a few of the other tributes were trying at the rope courses. The girl from District 5 was making good work, coming to the top of the ropes course first. The boy from District 7, on the other hand, was at the middle. Obi-Wan watched as his foot slipped briefly, but then he caught himself at the last second. _Fast reflexes._

Obi-Wan looked to yet another side. Only one of the tributes had wound up there: the girl from District 9. She pulled back an arrow in her bow, let it fly. Obi-Wan watched as it only just barely missed the bull’s eye. As the girl from District 9 set down the bow with a self-satisfied grin, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if she had missed the bull’s eye on purpose.

There was another shout from District 4 and District 2—this time angrier, and Obi-Wan looked to see the two turned towards two girls. District 8 and District 11, Obi-Wan realized. He could tell it was District 11 even without looking at the stitched number on her shirt.

“Did you think that was funny?” District 4 was saying. He held up a small knife, and Obi-Wan spotted the slight tear in his shirt sleeve. District 11 and District 8’s eyes were wide, and District 4 was advancing with heavy, angry steps, District 2 close behind.

“It was an accident,” District 11 was saying. She was standing in front of District 8, and Obi-Wan realized then that District 11 had not been the one to throw the knife. But District 4 and District 2 didn’t know that yet.

“An _accident_ ,” District 2 drawled. “An incredibly convenient accident, wouldn’t you think, for you to _accidentally_ hurt a tribute before the games even started?” He took a few steps forward, and even from this distance, Obi-Wan could see the dangerous glitter in District 2’s eyes. “You realize there are consequences for that.”

District 2 took another step forward, and in a flash, the tip of his blade was resting on District 11’s chest.

The whole training room went dead silent.

Obi-Wan saw District 11 look down at her chest, look back up at District 2. “I—”

“She said it was an accident.”

Obi-Wan heard movement across from him, and a moment later, he saw District 3 striding across the training room, his eyes narrowed.

District 2’s lips curled. “And you would…”

“Be the person who heard it all,” District 3 said. He held out his hand. “And I think that knife belongs to District 11.”

Another silence.

District 3’s hand remained outstretched. “Now,” he added.

“You shouldn’t have your hand out like that,” District 2 mused. He looked at District 4, and in another flash, the tip of his sword was resting against District 3’s wrist.

Obi-Wan looked around the training room. The attendants either weren’t watching or were pretending not to watch. The other tributes, on the other hand, stood frozen. Obi-Wan saw the conflict on some of the tributes’ faces, the mild interest in others’.

He turned back around to District 11 and District 3. District 11, with the sword still resting at her chest, and District 3, with the sword resting at his wrist. Obi-Wan knew that if District 2 or District 4 pressed any harder, there would most definitely be blood.

What a mess that would be.

Obi-Wan shut his book with a loud _snap_ , not caring if the sound rippled across the training room.

“Now, now,” he said loudly, not caring if everyone’s eyes were on him now—including District 2 and District 4. Both tributes lifted their nearly yellow eyes up to Obi-Wan. He pretended not to notice the slight flicker of interest across District 2’s face. ( _They’ll want an alliance_ , Qui-Gon had warned. And Obi-Wan had said that he wasn’t interested. And he still wasn’t interested.)

Obi-Wan plucked the knife out of District 4’s hand—and that was easy, especially since District 4 clearly wasn’t expecting the gesture. He handed the knife back to District 11, who took it in silence. “We’ll want to save this excitement for the actual games, won’t we?”

He nodded to the swords at District 11 and District 3. “Really, if you wanted to have some fun with them, you might as well wait for the arena.” He cleared his throat and looked to the attendants. “And I’m sure pressing any further would be sure to cause some trouble.”

For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved.

And then District 2 dropped his sword from District 11’s chest. District 4 did the same with District 3’s wrist.

“Well done,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “Now, if that’s all settled, I’d like to go back to my reading.”

With that, he turned around and walked back to the survival station.

\--

Anakin found himself back at the training room, only this time, he knew that he was going in alone.

He could still see the other tributes though: District 2 had just gone in, and Anakin could see the line of tributes behind him. He waited and waited and waited—really, he didn’t think that the trials would take that long, but in the meantime—

Anakin tugged out the block of wood from his pocket. The same block of wood that his mom had given him before he had gone off to the Capitol. A part of him felt stupid at carrying the block around. It wasn’t like he had that much time to carve anything anyways, but—

Anakin brushed a thumb over the wood, tucked it back in his pocket as the doors flung open.

District 2 paused only once, threw all the tributes a smirk before disappearing down the long corridor back to the elevators.

That was Anakin’s signal.

He walked in.

The game makers were at least still a little alert—there had only been two other tributes to present, after all, so Anakin figured that he was supposed to be grateful.

 _Supposed_ to be grateful.

Anakin looked around the training room. There wasn’t much he could do, not really. But the game makers didn’t seem too concerned about that: they were murmuring amongst themselves about something. Somewhere, a sound system played music that Anakin hadn’t heard before.

Music.

A sound system.

That was something Anakin was familiar with.

Tech—that was something that—

But that didn’t really make sense, because Anakin hadn’t actually trained with anything tech-related since coming into the training room. He hadn’t bothered touching the wires or anything when he had gone in—those were already too familiar for him, but now, Anakin’s hands itched as he imagined exactly what the sound system would look like—what he could _do_ —

Anakin made his way across the training room, his eyes scanning for something that would get him to—

 _There_. Practically invisible to anyone who wasn’t knowing what they were looking for, Anakin found the small hatch that he knew would lead him directly to the sound system.

Sure enough, when he popped open the hatch, he found the mess of wires waiting for him. He looked up. There were only a few game makers who were intrigued in what he was doing now, and considering the fact that none of the training attendants had told him to stop, Anakin didn’t stop.

He wasn’t sure if he would have stopped even if they had come. It wasn’t like he had bothered training himself to do anything else. Survival skills this, survival skills that. Some basic sword fighting, sure. All of that was fine and good, but _this—_ tech, machinery, that was _Anakin_ ’s to control.

He looked down at the work before him.

And then he had an idea.

A stupid idea, and probably a risky idea, but it was an idea.

Something familiar.

Anakin couldn’t help himself: he smiled a little as he reached in to the system. Not just a sound system here, Anakin realized. But something else. Again, to the untrained eye, this might have looked like a system that was too complicated—but to Anakin, he saw exactly where all the pieces fit together. He saw that this wasn’t complicated at all: just two things merged into one. Sound, yes, and also something else. Something that reached past the boundaries of the Capitol and instead delved into familiar territory. If Anakin could just—

 _There_.

The music playing around him shorted out.

For a moment, there was only silence as the game makers paused, puzzled at the sudden static, and then Anakin decided to show off his trick.

Music filtered through the training room: soft notes first, too soft to decipher, but then, with another crackle of static, the music strengthened, grew, filled the training room.

Voices. Scratchy, untrained voices—voices strained by too little hours of rest and too many hours of work spent in factories building the very technology that the Capitol prided itself in possessing. Quiet singing—or really just rhythmic humming, soft chanting of the process of the day. Less song and more just _speaking_ , but that was District 3, and suddenly Anakin saw his house, and he saw his mom float before his eyes, and for a second, all he wanted was to go _home_.

But he was here, in this training room with the game makers who were now staring down at Anakin with expressions he couldn’t read.

He turned up the volume.

Let the voices of his home fill the training room for one last time.

And then he left.

\--

By the time Ahsoka walked into the training room, the game makers were agitated and tired, and honestly, so was Ahsoka. All the waiting had turned her into little more than an anxious stick figure by the wall, and only a few times had she looked at the boy from District 12—and she had felt bad for him, because at least she was going in before him. He would have it worst of all, Ahsoka knew.

But when Ahsoka walked in, her heart sank all the same, because the game makers looked bored and their eyes were half-closed from being in the training room the whole day.

Ahsoka looked around the training room. She walked over to the knife section briefly, her eyes lingering once on the knife that only a little while ago she had gotten back from District 1. That was something Ahsoka was still trying to wrap her head around. District 3 and District 1—they were both people who Ahsoka just couldn’t stop running into, no matter what seemed to happen in the training room.

Ahsoka set her hand on the knife handle and picked it up. She hadn’t even been the one to throw the knife at District 4—that had been District 8, who Ahsoka learned was named Barriss. And Barriss was nice. She knew about knives too, and she even helped adjust Ahsoka’s grip, and they had only been talking about aim—and Barriss had gotten a funny look on her face and said that she could throw much farther than most people expected.

Ahsoka hadn’t expected the knife to fly as far as it did, and she knew from Barriss’ expression that she hadn’t expected it to fly that far, either.

But District 1 and District 3 had almost materialized on either side of her, and Ahsoka wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or not. Because she _was_ a little grateful—she didn’t like having a sword tip at her chest, thank you very much, and she was grateful because that must mean she was doing _something_ right if there were already other tributes who were standing up by her, but at the same time—

Ahsoka picked up the knife now and looked at the game makers. Some of them were focusing on her, while others had completely fallen asleep in their chairs.

No matter.

Ahsoka picked up another knife. Twirled it around her wrist. It was surprisingly light—lighter than Ahsoka had expected. She turned to one of the dummies at the back of the room. Considered maybe taking a stab at the dummies, but on second thought, cutting off the arms or legs of a dummy that couldn’t fight back was hardly impressive.

Ahsoka tossed the knife instead. She had meant to aim for the head, but it caught the dummy at the throat instead. Which Ahsoka figured was good enough. She walked over to the dummy, ripped the knife out of its throat and turned back around to the game makers. One of them had nodded in semi-approval. Only one.

Not good enough.

Ahsoka looked down at the knives in her hands.

No one ever expected much from her—she was small, but she was quick.

Ahsoka looked back up at the stage of game makers.

Really, how different were these tired game makers from the Peacekeepers back home?

Ahsoka slipped the knives at her belt and looked around. The ropes course was still dangling at the side, still waiting to be used.

Ahsoka’s eyes traveled from the top of the ropes course to—

 _Yes_.

Ahsoka walked up to the ropes course. Tilted her head back, surveyed the height. Really not that much taller than the trees Ahsoka would sometimes climb when she was hiding from the Peacekeepers.

Ahsoka scrambled up the ropes course faster than she expected. Climbing up ropes, she realized, was easier than climbing trees. Because with trees, she at least had to worry about splinters and bugs and bits of bark falling down her face. But ropes were easy to grip, and Ahsoka’s hands were calloused enough that she didn’t have to worry about any burns.

She swung to the top of the ropes, balanced herself lightly on the lengths of rope still tied to the ceiling. From here, she could see the beams of the ceiling itself. Look down below to where the game makers were. Still, just a few more game makers had looked up to observe Ahsoka, but still, the majority of them were completely oblivious to what she was doing or what she had done.

Ahsoka figured that that meant that they deserved what was coming next.

Ahsoka spotted the bowl of apples sitting on the table.

Apples—really, she had gotten away with worse and with much more.

Ahsoka undid one of the ropes, let it fall and narrowly miss the head of one of the game makers. She almost laughed at how he jumped back, but she needed to stay focused.

Ahsoka slipped down the length of the rope. Landed right on the table holding the bowl of apples. She heard a few surprised gasps, and this time, Ahsoka actually laughed a little. She winked—actually _winked_ , with a little thrill in her chest—at the game makers, and then she scooped up an apple. Stuck it in her mouth and jumped up to the rope.

She made it to the top of the rope and, looking down at the stunned game makers, she waved.

And then, taking out her knife, she cut down the length of the rope. Let it fall right on the game makers.

There were some more surprised gasps, and this time, Ahsoka laughed for real.

\--

“Congratulations,” Satine said as Obi-Wan’s _9_ flashed across the screen. “What did you do to impress them?”

“I recited all one thousand different tree species of Panem,” Obi-Wan deadpanned, resting the side of his face with a hand. District 2— _Maul_ , Obi-Wan finally learned his name through the screen—earned himself an _8_. Obi-Wan thought of the furious dueling in the training rooms. He wasn’t all that surprised.

“Very funny,” Satine said. “But if you insist on being that way…”

“I very well do insist,” Obi-Wan replied. He rubbed a hand over his face, blinked at the bright screen. Found District 3 flash before him: _Anakin Skywalker_.

An _8_.

Obi-Wan thought of District 3 sitting back on his haunches, looking absolutely bored with the small fire he had built. So perhaps he had done something more than just the survival section as well. Obi-Wan tried to think of what he had seen District 3 do at other stations: nothing much, except perhaps throw a bunch of knives. Maybe pick up a sword or two. He was a decent fighter, stronger and taller than probably the average tribute that came out of District 3—and probably stronger and taller than the average tribute, period, but still, Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely certain if District 3 would exhibit those skills in front of the game makers, unless District 3 was just better at hiding than Obi-Wan gave him credit for.

But then Obi-Wan remembered how quickly District 3 had walked across the room when District 2 and District 4 had risen up to District 11—and he had the feeling that hiding wasn’t exactly District 3’s strong suit. No, there was something else that District 3 simply didn’t think to exhibit in the training room until the day in front of the game makers.

The next few numbers flashed by in waves of 6’s, 7’s, some 5’s. A few more _8_ ’s. 

And another _9_ —

This time from District 11.

Obi-Wan found himself sitting up.

 _Now_ that _was interesting_.

 _Ahsoka Tano_ , read the caption under the photo of District 11. A small, young thing who had gotten the only other _9_.

Obi-Wan tried to think of what District 11 had done in the training rooms too. She hadn’t done much, maybe toyed around with the knives, but she, too, had been casual about the whole process. Unless she, too, was much better than she was letting on.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile a little to himself. He had been right from the start—he had the strange feeling that that girl had something about her, even at the time of the chariots.

The last score flashed by—a _7_ from the boy in District 12, and then that was that.

“An interesting array,” Qui-Gon said, shutting off the television. “Higher scores than I expected.”

“You were expecting lower?”

“At least more of them,” Qui-Gon replied. He leaned back against the couch. “We have many _8_ ’s, two _9_ ’s. Everyone seemed to have scored relatively high, save for a few. Why do you think that is?”

Obi-Wan paused. And then he turned to the black screen. “Higher scores mean more competition,” he said. “More sponsors will be looking at more tributes. There’ll be more of a struggle to see which tribute snags which sponsor.”

“Correct,” Qui-Gon replied. He smiled grimly. “The game makers want to promise its audience a good game this year.”

“Aren’t they always,” Obi-Wan said dryly. He stood up, brushed himself off.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Satine asked, looking up from her pad.

“Going to bed,” Obi-Wan replied over his shoulder.

“You have your interview tomorrow,” Satine called after him.

“So I’ll prepare tomorrow morning,” Obi-Wan said. He turned around once to look at both Qui-Gon and Satine. “I’ll be ready then.”

Satine opened her mouth to argue, but Qui-Gon nodded. “Be sure you’re ready in the morning,” was all he said.

“I will,” Obi-Wan replied.

But when Obi-Wan got back to his room, he didn’t sleep.

He perched himself by the window, looked out at the gleaming lights of the Capitol below him. Even through the thick windows, he could hear some of the shouting and the music below. Constant shouting, constant music, constant light—that was what the Capitol was, and in a few days, Obi-Wan would be out on the arena.

Obi-Wan thought of his score: _9_ , and he thought of the scores of District 3 and District 11. Stupid. He had been stupid to do anything—he had been stupid to do any actual interacting.

 _An_ 8 _and a_ 9, Obi-Wan mused.

They could very well kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	5. Impressions (Part Four)

The dull roar of the audience outside did little to ease the tension of their little waiting hallway (not a room—a literal hallway with white walls and a shining white floor which Obi-Wan could see his reflection in), but Obi-Wan figured that was to be expected. He could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, and even though he was at least a few feet away from District 2— _Maul_ , Obi-Wan still wished he was standing a little farther away.

“ _Welcome, welcome!_ ” boomed the cheerful, ever-so-energetic voice of Hondo Ohnaka from beyond the hallway. Obi-Wan could see the dancing lights of the stage just a little ways from him. That, and Hondo Ohnaka a moment later, bounding—literally _bounding_ —across the stage with his ridiculous and slightly maniacal grin. Obi-Wan could have sworn Hondo looked the exact same as he had when he’d interviewed Qui-Gon. Slightly different clothes, perhaps: Hondo wore a bizarrely long red coat, complete with green and gold accents and a cap that Obi-Wan was fairly certain resembled a tortoise shell.

“And _happy Hunger Games!_ ” Hondo cried gleefully, clapping his hands together. “The _75 th Hunger Games!_” He stopped a moment, as if to think. “So does that mean I’ve been doing this for…” He held out his hand, ticking off his fingers, and then he shot the audience a mocking smile. “Don’t do the math!”

Laughter from the audience. Hondo made that same joke every year—and the Capitol still found it funny every year. No one could guess how old Hondo was, anyways. Just as the Capitol wanted it.

As Hondo prattled off the rest of the typical pre-interview jokes, Obi-Wan recalled this morning’s preparations to the front of his mind. He had been true to his word to Satine: he had come into the main living area of their quarters before the sun, and they had rehearsed.

And to Satine’s great frustration and Obi-Wan’s great satisfaction, Obi-Wan had managed to do well. He knew he did well because Qui-Gon drifted in eventually, and at the end of it all, Qui-Gon had nodded to him with the slightest of smiles on his face. And Obi-Wan had felt a slight prickle of pride, but he hadn’t dared smile himself until Satine finally threw down her notecards.

“Well,” she said, “you’re _quite_ proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I live to please,” Obi-Wan had replied with a mock bow. “And entertain.”

Satine’s expression had darkened a little at that, but all she said was, “Don’t crack.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Obi-Wan replied, but Satine had already been getting up to call Cody and the other stylists in.

 _Live to please and entertain_ , Obi-Wan thought now as the applause died down.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen—without further ado, please welcome _District 1, Obi-Wan Kenobi_!”

Another roar of applause, and Obi-Wan felt himself walk up the steps. Felt his lips turn upwards into a smile as he walked across the platform. Instantly, all he saw were lights and flashes and blurs of color—so many in the audience tonight, Obi-Wan knew. So many all dressed in their ridiculous clothes with their ridiculous baubles, but Obi-Wan kept smiling, even if the colors made his eyes hurt.

He made it to the center of the stage, found Hondo’s surprisingly warm hand.

“Kenobi!” Hondo said gleefully, as though they were old friends. “An _honor_! A _pleasure_! At _last_!” He pulled Obi-Wan down to the seat across from him—a surprisingly comfortable seat, one that was strangely round, but Obi-Wan managed not to slip.

“It’s good to meet you, Hondo,” Obi-Wan said, still shaking Hondo’s hand.

“ _Do you hear that?_ ” Hondo shouted at the crowd. “We’re on a first-name basis already!” He cupped a hand over his mouth. “And you know what that means next…”

Obi-Wan laughed along with the crowd, which seemed to make the crowd even more delighted.

“I suppose we’ll just have to move on to that later, won’t we?” Obi-Wan said, letting go of Hondo’s hand.

“Do you promise, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan set a hand over his heart. “Of course,” he said solemnly.

Another roar of laughter.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Hondo said, shaking his head. And then, leaning back in his seat, he gestured to the crowd. “Do you see everyone here? Everyone will be holding you to that promise now.”

Obi-Wan turned to the crowd. “I better not disappoint them, then.”

Some giggling. Obi-Wan kept his smile plastered over his face, but he saw Qui-Gon and Satine and Cody sitting amongst the crowd. They were at the front, along with all the other mentors and escorts and stylists. Qui-Gon’s expression betrayed nothing. Cody, too. Satine was the only one who showed any reaction: a slight wrinkle between her brows.

Obi-Wan turned back around to Hondo, who had at least started to sober up now.

“Well, Kenobi, here we are. Here _you_ are. I have to ask—how _are_ you feeling about the Games, hm? Feel you have an advantage?” A wiggle of Hondo’s eyebrows, and then Hondo turned to the crowd. “In case any of you folks have been living under a _rock_ , Kenobi here is the adopted son of Victor _Qui-Gon Jinn_ —yes, yes, yes, go on, give an applause— _Mr. Jinn, where are you? Jinn, give us a wave!_ ”

Obi-Wan watched as people turned abruptly to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked up. And with a slight smile, he waved to everyone. Waved directly to the camera that floated in front of his face. And then the eyes were fixing back on Obi-Wan, waiting eagerly for his response.

Obi-Wan only smiled. He leaned back in his seat, casual as could be. “I have the advantage of a supporting father,” he said. “But that is all.”

“That is _all_?” Hondo asked, lifting his brows.

Obi-Wan paused. “Well, I can’t say that I’ve gotten my good looks from him, now, can I?”

Another wave of laughter rippled across the room. Obi-Wan looked to Qui-Gon and Cody and Satine again. This time, a corner of Cody’s lips twitched. Satine shook her head, looked deliberately away, which Obi-Wan decided was a sign he must be doing something right.

“In all seriousness,” Obi-Wan said, turning back to Hondo, “all skills I’ve developed, I’ve developed on my own.” He let his smile fade just a little bit—just by enough to show that he was serious. _Pay attention now_. _Pay close attention_. “My father wasn’t in the training room with me when I scored that _9_ , now, was he?”

“Oh-ho!” Hondo crowed. “Oh- _ho_ —now _that’s_ an attitude!”

Obi-Wan spread out his hands. “Come now,” he said, bemused. “I only speak the truth.”

“Yes, you do, Kenobi,” Hondo said, shaking his head. “You certainly do. An _admirable_ quality.” Leaning forward, Hondo added, “And _speaking_ of admirable…I have to ask as well—the incident with the, ah, chariots.”

Obi-Wan paused. And then he smiled. “Yes,” he said. “The chariots.”

“You put on _quite_ a show,” Hondo said. He looked at the audience. “Didn’t he look absolutely _wonderful_ , ladies and gentlemen?”

Cries of approval.

“And towards the end—a _heroic_ gesture. Truly noble.” Hondo shook his head, set a hand over his heart. “It might have even touched this cold little stone in here.” And though Hondo smiled, Obi-Wan caught the glitter in Hondo’s eyes and knew that the real interview was about to start. “So tell me, Kenobi—what exactly was going through your head when you put out that _awful_ electric fire?”

Obi-Wan was suddenly much, much more aware of the lights and the flashes and the cameras.

And even though the doors were closed, he could have sworn he could feel the eyes of all the other tributes boring straight through to him.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said at last, “ _someone_ had to keep the show running.” He looked to the audience. “And I’m sure everyone here wanted timely entertainment, yes? Yes?”

A sudden applause, shouts and whistles and nods of agreement.

Obi-Wan felt something loosen in his chest. He turned back around to Hondo and smiled. “Does that answer your question?”

Hondo only shook his head. “Yes,” he said, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “That answers my question.”

 _Good_.

Obi-Wan smiled again.

\--

So Obi-Wan Kenobi of District 1 was a charmer. Anakin wasn’t surprised. There was something odd about that tribute—odd about the way he seemed to cut through other tributes and move with an ease that Anakin was still trying to figure out.

Obi-Wan didn’t so much as look at the other tributes when he walked off the platform. He was already heading back down the long hallway, back to where Anakin knew was where his team was waiting.

Anakin turned back around and waited for District 2 to finish his interview. And tried to remember what Padmé and Threepio and Artoo had tried to tell him during the interview practice last night and this morning. Threepio had been too much of an anxious mess—he kept repeating himself, mostly. (“Be polite, my dear boy,” was Threepio’s main advice.

“Don’t be polite,” Artoo had countered. “Capitol people like it when you stick it to their balls. Like what you did with the training room. Do that again, but it’ll be better, because you’ll look prettier this time around. Capitol loves pretty things.”

“Your last ‘pretty thing’ nearly burned me to a crisp,” Anakin had said.

“Yes, but a pretty crisp.”)

In the end, Padmé had been the one to shoo both Artoo and Threepio out, and then it had just been the two of them practicing the interview. Padmé would ask a question, and then Anakin would answer, and Padmé would listen to his full answer before shaking her head and giving criticism.

“You need to stop moving your hands,” Padmé said. “It might make you look antsy.”

Then, a few minutes later: “Now you sound bored.”

And then, a little while later: “Anakin, please don’t talk about sand. _Please_.”

“Well, _you_ were the one who asked about District 3—”

“Yes, but you can’t _complain_ about how the sand _gets everywhere_ —”

“Okay, then what _am_ I supposed to talk about?” Anakin had snarled, tossing aside a couch pillow. It hit the carpet with a soft _thump_. “Am I supposed to talk about how nice the district is? The Peacekeepers? The time they whipped my mom? Or am I supposed to drool after the Capitol? What am I supposed to _talk_ about?” He knew his voice had gotten too loud, because he heard a sudden shuffling behind him, and when he turned around, he saw Artoo dragging Threepio back out to the hallway.

When he turned back around, Padmé was giving him a sad look.

“Don’t _look_ at me like that,” Anakin had muttered, crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry.” Padmé said, looking down at her cards.

They had sat in silence before Anakin muttered, “I didn’t mean to get mad.”

“I know.” Padmé sighed, set her cards aside. “Talk to me about something real.”

Anakin thought of all the times he used to fiddle with the radios in the district, how he had gotten his mom into trouble just by doing that. “I don’t think that’s going to—”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Padmé said softly. “But something small. You mentioned your mother. What’s she like? What would you two do?”

Anakin had paused. And then he had started with something small.

“We run a shop,” he had started haltingly, and then Padmé had smiled. She had stood up, rested a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. A brief touch.

“Tell me when you get to the interview,” she said, and that had been that.

And now Anakin was standing, waiting for the interview to commence.

There was a dull applause, and Anakin looked up in time to see District 2—Maul—walking out. Maul flicked his yellow eyes over to Anakin, smirked. _Your turn._

Anakin looked up to the doors.

He pushed back his shoulders and, letting out a quiet breath, marched up the stairs.

He was met with shouts and whoops and a wide grin from Hondo Ohnaka, who got up to do a little dance over to Anakin.

“ _Anakin Skywalker from District 3!_ ” Hondo exclaimed, taking Anakin’s hand and pumping it up and down. “A _pleasure!_ Welcome, welcome—”

Anakin just barely sat down before Hondo said, “I’m glad that you’re not burning this time!”

A laugh from the audience.

Anakin stared for a second— _was that supposed to be_ _funny_ —

But then he heard himself say, “I’m glad, too.”

The audience, thankfully, seemed to eat that up. They shouted and laughed, clinging onto each other like the nonsensical people they were. And Anakin, all the while, looked for—

Padmé was sitting next to the same person she had nodded to at the beginning of the chariot ceremony. The mentor and team of District 1. So Obi-Wan hadn’t joined them yet—or maybe they had already talked to each other before coming back here. Either way, Padmé looked up now and gave him a small little nod.

Anakin almost nodded back, but then, eyeing the cameras floating around him, he instead looked to Hondo. “I mean, did you _see_ me?” he asked. “I thought my stylist was crazy. I think he _is_ crazy.”

Another laugh. This time, Anakin heard Artoo’s, “ _well, you’re not burning up now, are you?_ ”

Anakin looked. Artoo was shaking his fist, but there was that slightly maniacal, almost conspiratorial look on his stylist’s face again, and Anakin wondered briefly if he had been waiting for this little part to play out since the beginning of the interview.

“Don’t jinx it!” Anakin shouted back.

That got him another round of laughs, Hondo’s laugh being the loudest and most cheerful of them all. “No, no, don’t jinx him!” Hondo agreed, clapping a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Look at this young man—ladies, gentlemen, would we want him to be jinxed in these Games?”

Anakin wanted to brush Hondo’s hand away, and he almost did, but he found Padmé’s eyes again.

“ _Noooo_ ,” the crowd was saying, shaking their heads mournfully.

“Do you hear that, my boy?” Hondo crowed. “They’re already attached!”

Anakin managed a smile. “Nice to know I have a fan club,” he said. He managed a salute—it was an idiotic move, really—but he gave a two-fingered salute, and distantly, he heard some high-pitched shouts of both men and women.

He hadn’t anticipated that, but the rest of the audience seemed to like it.

“Careful, Skywalker, we don’t want a competition to begin right here!”

“Sorry,” Anakin said.

“You’re not sorry at all, aren’t you?” Hondo asked, wagging his finger.

Anakin looked at Padmé again. She nodded.

Anakin turned back around. “No,” he said, shrugging. “Not really.”

More laughter, some more high-pitched shouting.

Anakin shot a smile in the general direction of the audience, even though something in his stomach twisted.

“You know,” Hondo said at last, “I had the feeling that you’ve got a big heart.” He shook his head. “Even before you came right here.” He gestured to the audience. “Everyone saw you when you were selected—” _Selected_ , not _reaped_. “Comforting that little boy from the start. And now here you are, making all the ladies and gentlemen swoon left and right. You a sensitive soul, Skywalker? Big heart underneath those big muscles?” Hondo poked at Anakin’s bicep.

Anakin again resisted the urge to back away. _Don’t touch me_ —

“Well, you know,” Anakin said at last. “I’m a person. Figured there might be more to me.”

Serious—maybe that was too serious, because the audience quieted a little bit at that, but Hondo seemed to take it in a stride.

“Of course you are, my boy,” Hondo said, clapping Anakin’s shoulder. “Of _course_ you are. A person who hopes to win these Games, no doubt?”

“’Course,” Anakin replied. No. This was not good. One-worded answers were something Padmé warned him against—

“You have to share that big heart of yours with someone back home,” Hondo said with a nod. “Yes?”

Anakin was relieved for the quick escape. Even if Hondo touched him a little more than he wanted and laughed a little louder than he liked, he was still grateful for the—

“Yeah. Sure.” _No, Anakin, do better than that—_

“It’s just me and my mom back home,” Anakin said quickly. “I told her I’d win the games. And she told me to come back home.”

Some more quiet this time, but not necessarily the same quiet as before.

“Did she now,” Hondo said.

“Yeah.” _That’s one word._ Anakin dug his hand in his pocket, found the chip of wood that his mom had given him. He felt stupid for carrying it around with him—he hadn’t carved anything in it yet, but now, he tugged it out. “She taught me a lot of what I know. And she gave me this. To make something out of it.” He turned the chip of wood over in his hands. “I’m still trying to figure out what to make.” He looked up at Hondo. “I know I’ll have to leave it behind—but she gave it to me as a good luck charm.”

Anakin wasn’t sure where he was going with this now. But just that the words were slipping out, and Padmé had told him to say something real, and this felt like the most real thing he had said since stepping into the Capitol.

Anakin looked down at the chip of wood in his hands again. Still unmarked. “It’ll be okay though,” he said. “I’m lucky even without this thing.”

A smile from Hondo. “I’m sure you are,” he said, and his voice was just a little quieter than it had been a moment ago. Then, leaning forward, Hondo said conspiratorially, “I’ll tell you what—maybe you can hand that good luck charm of yours to some lucky lady or gentleman out here in the crowd. I’m sure they’ll wish you all the luck in the world.” He turned to the audience. “Am I right?”

Hollers and whistles and shouts showed Anakin the audience’s…enthusiasm.

It made Anakin sick to the stomach.

But he found Padmé’s eyes again.

And he smiled along.

\--

Ahsoka was restless by the time it was her turn to walk up the stage. She had been waiting for so long, and her feet had gone numb from standing so still for so long, which didn’t make sense, because Ahsoka had stood still for longer before, but this was different, because Ahsoka could hear the roar of the audience every other minute, followed by Hondo’s booming voice and whatever it was the tributes were saying. She had watched each tribute go before her—she had learned the names of all the tributes: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker, Savage Oppress being the first four. Ahsoka hadn’t been surprised by how all of their interviews went—they all acted exactly as she figured they would. Somehow, she had known that Obi-Wan would be sly and smooth-talking, and somehow she knew that Maul would be oddly talkative, and somehow she knew that Anakin would capture hearts as quickly as he did, and somehow she knew that Savage would give short grunts and glowers for answers. 

And the next set of tributes: Aayla Secura, Caleb Dume, Lux Bonteri. Aayla was soft-spoken but fierce, Caleb energetic and so hopelessly young, Lux quiet but intelligent.

Ahsoka was thrilled to see Barriss—the girl from District 8—shoot Ahsoka a quick, nervous smile before she walked up the steps to her interview. And Ahsoka had been thrilled and annoyed with herself to find herself smiling back, and she almost whispered _good luck_ , but the sensible part of her just barely held her back.

And then the next two tributes: Steela Gerrera, who proved tough and confident (“I know what I’m good at”), and Cad Bane, who spoke in long, slow drawls and casually spun a toothpick around his teeth.

And then it was time for Ahsoka.

She looked to the steps and walked forward. With each step closer, she tried to remember what exactly Rex and Ventress and Riyo had cautioned her against.

“Hondo’s crazy, but he can be fair,” Rex had told her. “He’s smarter than he looks, and he’ll still want to bring out the best of the tributes. Hard to believe, but he does.”

“He’ll like you,” Riyo had told Ahsoka. “He always took the most sympathy for the younger ones. He did with Katooni last year.”

That much was true—Ahsoka was pretty sure Katooni and Hondo still spoke to each other, which struck Ahsoka as bizarre. She would think that victors would want to distance themselves as much as possible from anyone to do with the Games, but then again…perhaps that was all a part of the strategy. Especially with the District 12 tribute—a young boy named Petro, Ahsoka learned—being as young as he was.

Ventress hadn’t offered too much advice until the very end. She had flicked Ahsoka on the forehead—an actual _flick_ , and then Ventress had said, “Chin up, sweetheart. You’ve done a good job of sitting still and looking pretty so far. I trust you won’t mess this up.”

“Thanks,” Ahsoka had said, rubbing at her forehead. “For the vote of confidence.”

“That’s the closest she’ll ever get to admitting that she likes you,” Rex had told Ahsoka later. “You should feel honored.”

Ahsoka had managed a smile at that.

“There you go,” Rex said. “That’s the one.”

“It’s a nice smile,” Riyo had agreed. “A young one.”

 _A young one_ , Ahsoka thought now as she mounted the steps. She wasn’t the youngest of the tributes—not in the slightest—but she was still young. And she could still use that to her advantage.

So Ahsoka brushed her hands against the gown of her skirt and made her way through the doors. Not by walking—she added a little skip in her step, a little acrobatic jolt that made the now slightly worn audience sit up a little. _Good._

“ _Ahsoka Tano, District 11_!” Hondo boomed.

Rex was right about one thing: Hondo seemed to want to make the most out of the tributes. And despite the fact that Hondo had been here through all these interviews, he didn’t seem the slightest tired or fazed as Ahsoka made her way across the stage. “Welcome, my dear girl, _welcome!_ ”

“Thank you,” Ahsoka said, taking Hondo’s hand with a smile. She sat down across from him, crossed her ankles.

“Well, well.” Hondo leaned back in his seat, smiled at Ahsoka. “You’re the little lady who scored the only other _9_ in the entire trial, am I correct?” Without waiting for Ahsoka to respond, Hondo turned to the audience and said in a stage whisper, “Of _course_ I’m correct! Who do you think I am?”

Laughter from the audience told Ahsoka to laugh too.

“That’s me,” she said when everyone had quieted enough for her to speak.

“Dare I ask—and don’t be offended, my dear—but _how_ did you get that _9_?” Hondo asked, leaning forward.

Ahsoka leaned forward too. And smiled again. The kind of smile she would give her brothers before stealing their ball right from under their noses. And suddenly, Ahsoka’s chest ached. She missed her brothers. She missed her dad. She missed their house, and she missed her room tied off with the curtain, and she missed the marigolds that her dad had given her before she went off to the train. She suddenly wished she had those flowers with her now.

“Do you _really_ want to know?” Ahsoka asked.

Hondo looked from her to the audience. When the audience clamored for an answer, Hondo nodded. “I think we _all_ want to know.”

“Well, come here,” Ahsoka said, crooking her finger.

Hondo paused, and then, shrugging, he leaned forward.

Ahsoka cupped her hand over Hondo’s ear and then, at the last second, she whipped her head to the audience and shouted, “ _You’ll have to find out!_ ”

A stunned little break, and then everyone was laughing again, including Hondo.

“Ooh, you’re a tricky one!” Hondo said, shaking his head. “A tricky, tricky little thing! A smart one, too! A quick one! A bold one!” He shook his head again, leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees. “I should not be surprised.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Ahsoka said cheerfully. Or at least, as cheerfully as she could. Which, she discovered, was rather cheerful.

“That should explain your events at the chariot, then, yes?”

Ahsoka smiled again.

“They’ll want to know about what happened at the chariots,” Rex had told her on their walk to the hallway. “You’ll have to be careful. You did it only because you wanted to help.”

Ahsoka had paused at that. “But I _did_ want to help,” she said slowly.

Rex had blinked, surprised. And after a moment of silence, he had said, “Good.”

Ahsoka looked at Hondo now. “Well, _someone_ had to do something.” She sat up a little. “I just wanted to help.”

“Admirable,” Hondo said warmly, although Ahsoka noticed there was a strange look in his eyes. One that Ahsoka couldn’t quite place. But then Hondo smiled and turned to the audience. “Everyone, give it up for Ahsoka Tano!”

Ahsoka smiled and waved.

\--

Obi-Wan went to bed later that night, listening to the celebrations outside.

He lay in bed and waited and waited and waited, and finally, he heard a knock to his door.

He sat up.

“Come in,” he said.

“You’re not asleep.”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, letting the blankets pool around his waist. “Were you able to? The night before?”

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a sad smile. “Not quite.” He walked across the room, sat at the foot of the bed. “Tomorrow,” he said, “you will want to distance yourself from the other tributes as much as possible. The others—Maul and Oppress—will want to ally themselves with you. Although you’ve already told me that—”

“I’m not interested in allying myself with them,” Obi-Wan replied. “They’ll only kill me.”

“You three will cross paths eventually,” Qui-Gon warned. “Take care to—”

“I will.”

A silence passed.

And then Qui-Gon said quietly, “I am sorry. That you must enter the Games this way.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to say anything. Not about this.

“Don’t worry,” he said at last, laying back down in the bed. “I’ll win. And then we can forget.”

Another silence.

“I don’t think this is something you can forget.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything.

He knew that already, too.

\--

Anakin sat at the living room window, carving out the last of the block of wood. He hadn’t really known where he was going with it—just that he had started at one end, and now he was at the other, and now he was looking down at the carved bit of rock and wondering how exactly he had gotten to that point. But he had.

And it was finished.

It was simple—not the most elaborate thing he had made, but it felt right.

“You should sleep,” Padmé said. She was sitting on the couch. She had been sitting there for some time. They had both been sitting in the living room for some time. Anakin had joined her after spending an hour tossing and turning in his own bed. She hadn’t said anything—she had just silently moved over on the couch, but Anakin had settled for the window.

But now, Anakin pushed himself off the window ledge. “I’ll sleep soon.”

He sat down on the couch a little ways from Padmé. She didn’t look up from the book she was reading. It had a glossy cover, but when Anakin looked, he found that the pages were yellow.

“Some books weren’t allowed to be read when the Capitol was established,” Padmé said quietly. “But there are some old copies still being handed around.”

Anakin blinked. He hadn’t expected Padmé to—

“What is that?” Padmé asked, nodding to the wooden piece in Anakin’s hand. She closed her book, set it aside on the coffee table. “Did you make that just now?”

“I—yeah.” Anakin spread out his hand so that he could show Padmé the full piece. “Something…Hondo said earlier today. Had me thinking.” He reached over, found Padmé’s wrist. He found Padmé already instinctively opening her hand, and Anakin dropped the wooden piece right into her waiting palm. “I won’t be able to bring it with me in the arena, but if you…hold onto it.” He looked at Padmé. “Be my good luck?”

Padmé didn’t say anything for a moment, and Anakin wondered if maybe this wasn’t—

“You won’t need it.”

“I was lucky during the interview.”

“You did well on the interview.”

“I pretended to be talking to you the whole time.” Anakin felt a corner of his lips twitch. “That helped.”

“I’m glad it did.” Padmé’s eyes flicked down to the wooden piece. And then she looked back up.

When their lips found each other, Anakin decided that this could probably count as luck, too.

\--

“You know what’s weird?” Ahsoka asked.

She was sitting at the rooftop. She figured she should be cold, but there was a force field keeping out the cold. Trapping Ahsoka and Rex in. (“It’s to keep the tributes from jumping off,” Rex told her grimly. Ahsoka didn’t bother asking if Rex had ever tried that himself. And Rex didn’t bother sharing.)

“What?” Rex asked now. He was sitting next to her. They both looked down at the streets, at the bright lights and the brighter costumes that blinked up at Ahsoka even from this height.

“I have four older brothers. And they all look like you,” Ahsoka said. She closed her eyes once, pushed her forehead to her knees. “So when I first saw you, that was why I looked really surprised. Because it looked like one of my brothers had come back to me for a second.”

Rex was quiet.

“It’s really weird,” Ahsoka said. “I don’t know why you guys look so alike, but you _do_. And…that kind of made me feel safer. Around you. About this. But you’re not gonna be in the arena with me tomorrow. No one from home is. It’s just going to be me. I won’t even have another District 11 tribute, like in all the other games. I’ll be alone.”

“You won’t be.”

“Pretty sure I will,” Ahsoka said tiredly. She felt suddenly much, much older than just fourteen. “All my life, I’ve been surrounded by family. And friends. And in there, I’ll be alone when I was never meant to.” She looked at Rex. “So thanks. Thank you. For making me…not feel alone. Even right now. Even if it’s weird.”

Rex looked at Ahsoka.

And then he said, “The part about your brothers…it’s not weird.”

“What?”

“There are people who look like me,” Rex said slowly. Quietly. Sadly. “Or I look like some people.” He turned to the streets. “I don’t know all the details—but the Capitol’s a strange place. A strange place where there were sometimes some…processes. Some research and experiments of all kinds. You’ve seen them all.”

Ahsoka knew that much. Some of the surgical implants she had seen in the Capitol were worthy of nightmares.

“Sometimes they go wrong,” Rex said. “Sometimes the Capitol tries to forget they ever existed. Sometimes they get dropped in other districts. Scattered.”

Ahsoka stopped.

“District 11 just seems like a popular place to drop them off,” Rex said at last. “Abandoned little pieces by the Capitol.”

Ahsoka blinked. “But if the Capitol didn’t want anyone to—”

“I don’t show up to the Reapings for a reason,” Rex said with a wry smile. “Cameras don’t show me. I won the games my year, and then the Capitol tried to make everyone forget. Tried to do things to make sure that there’d be nothing left to remember.”

A chill ran up Ahsoka’s spine. “Rex—”

“But I’m still here. And your brothers are still over there.” Rex looked to the streets again. “We’re living proof that the Capitol isn’t as ship-shape as it wants to be. I take pride in that.”

Ahsoka looked down the streets. “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

“I’m sorry, you’re sorry—there’s no one who should be sorry except the Capitol.” Rex’s voice was matter-of-fact, cool. “So tell you what, little’un—you go in that arena tomorrow, and you win the Games. Give them something to be sorry about. Got it?”

Ahsoka looked at Rex.

“Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	6. Friends and Enemies (Part One)

Anakin woke up to an empty bed. Still warm and still smelling faintly of a shampoo that wasn’t the kind Anakin had used amongst the Capitol’s various arrays of hair products, but still empty. 

He told himself that he couldn’t have expected anything more or less. 

He had to get up. 

Anakin swung his legs off the bed and looked out the window. The sky was still dark, with only the barest glimmers of a dawn in the distance, and he knew that he had to get out of the room soon. Anakin had only just started to look around the room for _—_ clothes, he had to wear new clothes when going into the arena, didn’t he? _—_ when there was a gentle knock on the door. 

Anakin looked up. He already knew who would be on the other side, but his throat constricted anyways. “I’m up,” he said. 

“Are you changed? The clothes should be in the closet.” 

Anakin turned. He pushed himself off the bed, made it to the closet in two quick strides. He found the typical games attire _—_ they weren’t always the same (one year it had been chainmail, another year it had been swimsuits), but they were always some dark color. Anakin didn’t know why. He figured that it probably hid the blood better. 

He tugged out the black pants first: long, made out of a material that was only slightly thicker than the kind of pants that he would wear back home. The shirt was a little different, though. Made out of a glossier material that felt cool and slick against his skin. If that had any purpose at all, Anakin figured it would only be a matter of time before he found out. 

And below, waiting for him on the floor of the closet, Anakin found a pair of socks. Thick wool, much thicker than the ones he would ever get at home. A pair of boots: not like the ones Anakin would wear at home. These were black as well, but they felt oddly...heavier. Clunkier. 

Anakin wondered if that was a mistake. Or maybe everyone got these heavier, clunkier boots on purpose. Maybe that was a part of the game maker’s fun. _Look at them trip and fall and run for their lives_ _—_ _look at them go, their shoes don’t even fit properly_ _—_

Anakin tied up the laces of his boots and said, “I’m dressed.” 

The door opened, and Anakin looked up to find Padmé already dressed and fully awake. Her hair was pinned up to the back of her head, her eyes steady and shining even in the dim light of the room. She was, Anakin discovered with some surprise, dressed similarly to how he dressed now. Black pants, a black shirt, the same clunky black boots, and for a disorienting second, Anakin wondered if she was going into the arena with him. 

But she was already walking into the room. “Your shoelace is untied,” she said. 

“It’s...yeah.” Anakin ducked down, re-tied his shoelace, stood back up. 

Padmé looked up at him. “Did you sleep at all?” 

Anakin lifted his shoulders. “Better than I thought I would,” he replied. He meant for his tone to be light. He was glad that it sounded light enough to his own ears, even though Padmé didn’t laugh. She just looked him over, took a step back. 

“The others…” She gestured outside. “They wanted to send you off too.” 

Anakin blinked. “You sure about that?” He craned his head over Padmé’s shoulder and, sure enough, he saw the familiar golden suit and the flashy silver one hovering outside the door. He looked back at Padmé and, loud enough for them to hear, he asked, “They’re not planning to pull any tricks on me last-second, are they?” 

“As if,” Artoo called from outside. 

A corner of Padmé’s lips twitched, but as fast as it came, it was gone. “Come on,” she said, nodding out the door. “Before we’re actually called.” 

Anakin nodded. He followed Padmé out the door, where Artoo and Threepio were waiting for him. 

“Too bad I didn’t design the outfits,” Artoo said, tilting his head distastefully at Anakin’s attire. “You look boring as fuck.” 

“Not enough flash for you?” Anakin asked. 

“Just too dark,” Artoo replied, gesturing at Anakin up and down with his hand. “And what the fuck is up with the boots? Did they not get your fucking size? That’s gotta be a violation.” He looked up at Threepio, waved a hand in front of the taller man’s face. “C’mon, that’s your job _—_ any of that admin shit working in there? Hello?” 

Threepio stiffly batted Artoo’s hand away. “We were strictly instructed to _not_ interfere with this part of the games,” he said, although the look he gave Anakin was an apologetic one. “Although it certainly isn’t fair for you to have missized boots. I am terribly sorry.” And even though Anakin had gotten used to (and grown tired of, frankly), Threepio’s chatter and anxious fretting, he couldn’t help for _—_ at least in this second _—_ to feel something that wasn’t actual exasperation. 

“Come on,” Anakin said, rolling his shoulders. “Don’t act like I’m already dead. That’s bad luck.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean _—_ ” 

“We know you didn’t,” Padmé said. She turned to Anakin. “Besides, he’s right. He’ll make his own luck when he steps into the arena.” Her tone was casual, but Anakin caught the slight edge in her gaze as she looked back up at him. 

Anakin wondered if she still had the token that he had given her last night. He hadn’t been able to keep track of where it went _—_ everything was a little difficult to keep track of last night, after the his-lips-on-hers and her-lips-on-his and then _hands_ and falling asleep hearing breaths that weren’t his own. 

“Right,” Anakin heard himself say. 

There was a quiet chime then, and then Padmé cleared her throat. 

“That’s us,” she said. 

Anakin nodded. He looked at Threepio and Artoo. Threepio’s eyes were comically wide and comically wet, but he gave Anakin a watery smile that made Anakin wonder if perhaps the escort just had the misfortune of being born in the Capitol, because he hadn’t been as sadistic as Anakin had first thought. And Artoo, Anakin was surprised to find, had a smile that was a little less mad and a little more crooked, and Anakin realized that this was what Artoo looked like when he dropped the _mad stylist_ act. 

“Good luck, Anakin Skywalker,” Threepio said. 

“Don’t die,” Artoo added. “Got it?” 

Anakin looked at both of them. 

The chime sounded again. 

“Got it,” Anakin replied. He gave them a crooked smile of his own and, with a little nod to both of them, he turned around and walked after Padmé. 

And she didn’t say anything, not as he reached her side. They didn’t say a single word, not as they were escorted down the halls and then underground and then back through another set of halls. And then they were both in the little cell that would transport Anakin up to the arena. His arm was pricked so that the Capitol could implant a little tracking device. _Wouldn’t want to lose the entertainment._

Anakin tried to listen for anything that might give away what the arena would look like _—_ not that he thought even having that information would necessarily help him at this point, but still…

“You’ll be going up soon,” Padmé said, eyeing the cell warily. She looked at Anakin. “People will be desperate to get their first kills in. Distance yourself. Don’t bother going too deep into the Cornucopia _—_ it’s not worth it, no matter what you see.” 

“What happened to me being bigger and stronger than most?” Anakin asked with a halfhearted smile. 

Padmé didn’t smile back. “Don’t take any chances.” 

“Well,” Anakin started to say, but he stopped at Padmé’s expression. After a beat, he asked, “Why’re you wearing that?” 

Padmé looked down at herself. Then looked at Anakin. “When you step in the games,” she said quietly, so quietly that Anakin might not have heard her if they were anywhere else, “you never really leave. The Capitol wants you to forget everything that ever happened in the arena _—_ so they’ll dress you up nicely and make you laugh and smile and dance for them.” She lifted her eyes up to Anakin’s. “If they want me to forget, then they’re going to have to try harder. I’ve never left those games.” 

Anakin suddenly saw Padmé clearer in his own mind _—_ not the Padmé who stood in front of him now, but the Padmé who he had watched walk slowly up the steps of the platform. She had been the same age as he was now, Anakin realized. That should have been strange, but it wasn’t. 

“Sixty seconds,” the overhead speaker announced. “Fifty-nine…” 

“That’s you,” Padmé said. 

Anakin turned around to the cell. Really nothing more than a clear tube contraption, one that seemed too small and too narrow. 

He turned back around to Padmé. “Do you still have…” 

Padmé reached into her pocket. Withdrew the piece. She nodded. 

“Thirty...twenty-nine _—_ ” 

Anakin started to walk back to the cell. He made it two steps before stopping, then turning back around to Padmé. 

She still had her hand curled around the piece. 

“When I get out of the games,” he said, “I’m going to make sure we leave it behind forever. So make sure you hold onto that, okay?” 

Padmé looked at him. And then she nodded. An incredulous nod, but a nod all the same. Anakin decided that counted. 

And then he stepped inside the cell. 

\--

Ahsoka woke up hours and hours before it was even time for her to get dressed. She was too alert to go back to sleep, and a part of her wondered if maybe this was a bad idea _—_ maybe she really should try to get some more sleep while she still could, because she knew there was a very strong chance she might never get proper sleep ever again, at least not while she was still in the arena, but she couldn’t. 

She sat at the edge of the bed and simply waited. 

And waited and waited and waited. 

Her stomach growled eventually. She got up and ate an apple, only to throw it up in the trash can a minute later. She settled for crackers instead, drank some water. Sat on the couch and waited some more. Each tick of the clock, each turn of the digital numbers told her that she was getting closer and closer to the hour where she would finally get up to the arena. 

She might have fallen asleep once. She wasn’t really sure. Just that she had closed her eyes, and when she re-opened her eyes, fifteen minutes had passed. 

She waited some more. 

And then it was time for her to go back to the room that wasn’t really her room. She reached inside the closet, found the outfit that she was supposed to wear. 

Black pants, black shirt made out of a shiny material. Ahsoka rubbed her fingers over it. She wasn’t sure she had seen this kind of fabric before, not even amongst the Peacekeepers. She threw it over her head, reached for her shoes a moment later. 

She found socks already tucked into them. The socks fit. 

The shoes did not. 

Ahsoka frowned. She wasn’t sure if it was a mistake, but with a cold start in her stomach, Ahsoka realized that the Capitol _didn’t make mistakes_. Not with everything else so meticulously and obviously carefully planned _—_ everything else, from the shirt to the socks fit Ahsoka freakishly perfectly, but the _boots_ …

Ahsoka looked around the bedroom, wondering if there were papers that she could somehow stuff into her boots. Wondered if the people who would take her to the arena would even notice. 

Ahsoka walked into the bathroom. Found the tissues and plucked a few out. Balled them up, stuffed them into her boots. Better. Much better. 

Ahsoka nodded to herself in the mirror. Despite the fact that she hadn’t slept too much, she looked weirdly alert. She widened her eyes a little bit to the point that she frightened herself. And then she rocked back on her heels. 

“Make them sorry,” she whispered. Her words echoed around in the bathroom, in her head. “ _Make them sorry_.” And then she blinked. Smiled at herself in the mirror. 

She walked out of the bathroom, then walked out of the bedroom. 

When she walked into the main living area, she found Rex, Riyo, and Ventress were already there and waiting. Ventress looked sourer than usual; Riyo looked smaller than usual. And Rex _—_ Rex looked exactly the same, except he was wearing the same clothes as Ahsoka. Black pants, shiny black shirt, ill-fitting boots. 

Ahsoka’s throat closed for a moment. “Are you _—_ ” 

Rex looked down at himself. “No,” he replied. He looked at Ahsoka. “But District 11 has to represent somehow.” 

“You didn’t have to…” 

“Spare us the tears, sweetheart,” Ventress said. She swung her legs off the couch, made her way to Ahsoka. She put her hands on her hips, looked at Ahsoka up and down. “Let’s see...no wrinkles? No lint? That’s good.” She looked down at Ahsoka’s shoes. “Do they fit?” 

“They don’t,” Riyo said from the couch. She stood up too, her luminous eyes blinking down at Ahsoka’s feet. “Do they?” 

“No,” Ahsoka replied. “At least, they didn’t.” She tapped her foot against the floor. “I used some tissues. They fit better now.” 

“Playing dirty, I see,” Ventress mused. 

“I’m using my resources,” Ahsoka replied. 

“You’ll need to do that more later,” Rex said. “It’s good that you’ve started now.” He gave Ahsoka a small smile. “You’ve already got a head start.” 

Ahsoka tried to smile back. 

“You’re very smart,” Riyo said. “And very clever. And very likable. That’ll work in your favor.” She made it to Ahsoka’s front, gently nudging Ventress aside. The escort only huffed, folded her arms over her chest. Riyo, however, ignored her. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a scrap of _—_

“Is that from my _skirt_?” Ahsoka asked, staring down at the red fabric in Riyo’s hand. 

“I pulled some strings,” Riyo replied. “Most of the skirt wasn’t salvageable, I’m afraid, but this...I was able to save this.” She slowly spun Ahsoka around, sat her down on the edge of the couch. “May I?” 

Ahsoka nodded mutely. 

She felt Riyo’s cool hands skirt over her temples, then back to her hair. 

A slight tugging sensation, and then Ahsoka felt the scrap of fabric wind itself around her hair. She waited until Riyo stepped back. “There you go,” the stylist said. “Now you don’t have to worry about your hair getting in your face, at least. It happens more often you would think.” 

Ahsoka turned around. “Thank you,” she said, not just talking about the hair. 

“You’re welcome,” Riyo replied. Ahsoka knew that Riyo knew what she had meant. 

A chime sounded through the apartment then. 

“That’s your cue, sweetheart,” Ventress said. 

Ahsoka nodded.

They were quiet for a moment _—_ all of them, and then Ventress said, “You’re smarter than you look. _Much_ smarter. I don’t have to tell you to keep that up, now, do I?” 

Ahsoka shook her head. 

“Good girl.” Ventress held up her hand, examined her nails. “When you get back, we’ll see to it about that skirt. Riyo could only get a scrap because she’s too soft.” She lifted her eyes up to Ahsoka, and Ahsoka realized that Ventress’ eyes were actually paler in the light. Like ice, or like the diamonds that Ahsoka had seen so many people in the Capitol wear. “I’m sure I can talk someone into saying _something_.” 

“I’d like that,” Ahsoka said at last. 

Ventress hummed, looking back down at her nails. “When you get back, sweetheart. Just remember that.” 

_When you get back._

Ahsoka wished that she had been able to spend some more time speaking with Ventress, after all. 

_When you get back_ _—_ Ahsoka hadn’t thought that Ventress would be another reason for her to want to stay alive, but she decided that she might as well add her to the list of names that had already been forming in her head. 

“Let’s go,” Rex said. He nodded out the door. “After you, kid.” 

Ahsoka bobbed her head once. She turned back to Riyo and Ventress. Riyo gave her a sad little smile, and Ventress remained looking at her nails. She decided that that would have to do. She managed a small smile back and walked out the door. 

She let herself be led away, away, away, and she was glad that Rex was at least behind her. If anyone was surprised by Rex’s attire, no one said anything. 

Ahsoka let herself be led even farther away. At one point, she lost track of how many twists and turns she was led through, but eventually she walked into a too-bright cell. There was a pinch at her wrist, and then the soft murmur of someone saying something about a tracking device. _Don’t want to lose the entertainment._

Ahsoka rubbed the area where the tracking device had been implanted, and she tried not to think about how that tracking device was probably making its way through her veins as she just stood there. 

“The others were right,” Rex said now. “You’re likable. Try to make allies if you can. At least, in the first half.” 

“But they’ll have to die later.” 

“Separate yourself. Make it hard for them to catch you again.” Rex looked at Ahsoka. Paused. “There might be some things you have to do even if you don’t _want_ to.” 

Ahsoka nodded. “I know.” 

“You remember what we talked about last night?” 

Ahsoka nodded. “Make them sorry,” she said. 

Rex nodded back. “That’s right.” He paused again. “Even if you do something you don’t want to do…” 

“I know.” 

“Sixty seconds,” a cool voice said over the speakers. “Fifty-nine…” 

Ahsoka turned back around to Rex. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything.” 

“Thank me when you get back,” Rex replied. 

Ahsoka nodded. She took a step towards the little cell. Really a tube. A clear glass tube that Ahsoka thought couldn’t fit enough air. 

“Rex,” she started to say. 

She turned around again, turned around _quickly_ , because suddenly she was afraid that _—_

But he was still standing there. 

Ahsoka swallowed hard. 

And before she could lose her nerve, she ran forward. She wrapped her arms around Rex’s neck, buried her face into his shoulder. She heard a small, surprised exhalation of breath _—_ felt the sudden stiffness in his body, but then, a moment later, she felt a warm hand pat her back. 

“Thirty, twenty-nine…” 

Ahsoka waited until there was fifteen seconds left before she finally let go of Rex. 

“See you soon, kid,” Rex said. 

Ahsoka tried to reply. She almost couldn’t. 

But then she smiled. 

“See you soon,” she said. 

And then she stepped into the cell. 

\--

Obi-Wan woke up to find that Qui-Gon and Satine were already awake and speaking in the living room. He could hear their low tones even with his bedroom door closed. He wasn’t sure if they knew he was awake or not _—_ they must not have, because their voices were so low, but still, Obi-Wan was sure to keep his steps quiet as he slipped out of bed. 

He took a few steps to the door, hovered there as he made out more snippets of conversation: 

“ _But are you sure he could…_ ” 

“ _He will._ ” 

A silence, and then Satine’s voice: “ _I_ _’m sorry that it had to happen this way_.” 

A dry laugh. “ _We all knew this would happen eventually. The president was never one to take insults lightly_.” 

Obi-Wan paused. He looked down at the doorknob. Somehow, his hand had already crept its way over it. He considered opening the door then, just to interrupt the conversation and make it all stop, but he decided against that. Let them talk. 

Obi-Wan turned back around to the closet instead. He might as well get dressed. 

He wasn’t surprised at the arrangement of clothes: a sleek black shirt. Water-resistant, from what Obi-Wan could tell. He turned it over in his hands. Most likely water-resistant. Obi-Wan tried to think of reasons why. Some place that might be rainy. A jungle? A mountain?

Obi-Wan looked down at the boots and socks waiting for him. A mountain, most likely. 

He slipped the shirt over his head. Tugged on his pants. Slipped on the socks and then his shoes. They were comfortably snug, which Obi-Wan appreciated. He paused, looked at the door. The conversation had settled down, he knew, because he couldn’t hear anything beyond. 

He decided that was his cue to walk out. 

Obi-Wan turned the doorknob and walked to the living area. 

Sure enough, Satine and Qui-Gon were both already awake, and they were sitting on the couch. Qui-Gon had dark circles under his eyes, and a strand of Satine’s blonde hair had come loose and fallen down the side of her face. But Obi-Wan hadn’t expected Cody _—_ he realized that he should have, because the stylists usually were present to see off the tributes, but Cody hadn’t said a word. And Obi-Wan didn’t think that Qui-Gon and Satine would speak about the matters they were in front of Cody, but…

Well, he decided this day was as good as any for surprises. 

Cody, as though sensing Obi-Wan’s thoughts, looked up from his spot on the couch with a little lift of his eyebrows, as if to ask, _what?_

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows back. 

“And he wakes,” Satine said, noticing the exchange. “We were wondering when you’d come out.” 

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan replied dryly. “I heard I have a big day today, after all.” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Qui-Gon said. He stood up. He was wearing, to Obi-Wan’s mild surprise _—_ again with the surprises _—_ clothes that were nearly identical to Obi-Wan’s own. A black shirt, black pants, a pair of black boots. Obi-Wan tried to think of why his father might be wearing this outfit now: there was something political about the message, and everyone knew that politics should be the last thing on Qui-Gon’s mind, given the current affairs of the games and the president. 

“A wardrobe change?” Obi-Wan only commented. 

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a wary smile. “I thought it appropriate.” 

“Appropriate,” Obi-Wan repeated. 

“Well, you two _are_ father and son,” Satine said, setting down her pad on the coffee table. “It could be interpreted that way.” She stood up from the couch. “It looks like the clothes fit you, at least. Do they, Cody?” 

“Perfectly,” Cody replied. 

“You’re not even looking.” 

“I know they fit perfectly.” 

“Very well,” Satine said with a sigh of resignation. 

“Do my ears deceive me?” Obi-Wan asked as Satine made her way over to him. “Did the great Satine Kryze surrender?” 

“Don’t call it surrendering,” Satine replied loftily. “We all pick our battles.” 

“I’m honored to be a battle for you to not pick, ma’am,” Cody called from the couch. 

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes over Satine’s shoulder. Cody lifted a shoulder. Obi-Wan almost smiled. 

“Well, it _looks_ like things are all in order,” Satine said, her eyes flicking up and down Obi-Wan’s attire. “The shirt seems water-proof.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Obi-Wan replied. “My guess is that I’ll be somewhere...with condensation.” 

“That’s good,” Qui-Gon said. “If there’s rain, that might work as a water source.” 

“So long as the rain isn’t poisonous,” Obi-Wan said. 

“So long as that, yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. 

“If it comes to that, I hope you’ll know to stay _out_ of the poisonous rain?” Satine asked. 

Obi-Wan actually _did_ manage a smile this time, albeit a sarcastic one. “My dear Satine,” he said, “I would hope you know me better than that by now.” 

“I was only making sure,” Satine replied. But she smiled back too, though Obi-Wan noticed that it wasn’t as nearly as sharp as the ones she used before. Her expression faltered for a moment, and then she cleared her throat. “The bell should come any minute now _—_ ” 

A chime sounded. 

“There we go,” Satine said, nodding. She looked at Obi-Wan. “Off you go, I suppose.” 

Obi-Wan nodded. He looked at Cody, who had pushed himself off the couch. He was making his way to them now, his hands hanging at his sides. “Well,” he said, “I already know _you_ know how to make impressions.” 

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan replied. “Although some of that was thanks to you as well.” 

A corner of Cody’s mouth quirked upwards. “Make a good impression out there, then,” he said. 

“Whoever would I be without one,” Obi-Wan replied. 

“That’s the spirit.” 

“And speaking of getting in the spirit…” Qui-Gon nodded pointedly to the opening doors. A few Capitol attendants were already waiting in the doorway. 

Obi-Wan nodded. He looked to Satine and Cody again. “Well, then,” he said. “I best be off.” 

“Be careful.” Satine. Her voice was quieter than Obi-Wan had heard it in the last few days. When Obi-Wan looked at her, she gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t tell me that you know.” 

“I wasn’t planning to,” Obi-Wan replied. He tipped his head to Satine, then to Cody, whose smile had faltered a little now too. “Goodbye, then.” 

And then he walked out of the apartment with Qui-Gon _—_ walked out, out, out and into the darkness, where there were nothing but musky smelling hallways and just barely flickering lights to guide them. Obi-Wan suspected that the lights were to keep the tributes confused, should they try to make a run for it now. And he wondered if there _had_ been any tributes who had actually tried to run away from the games. He knew about the force fields that kept the rooftops protected, but…

They reached the cell eventually. Obi-Wan sat down for the woman who inserted a tracking chip. She smiled at him, and Obi-Wan managed a brief smile back. Probably not his best one, but it would have to do. _Wouldn’t want to lose the entertainment._

Obi-Wan withdrew his arm the moment the tracking device was implanted. He rolled his sleeve back down, looked around the cell. Looked to the glass tube that would bring him up to the arena. He could have sworn the cell was colder than it had been a moment ago, though he wasn’t too sure if that was his imagination or not. 

“What do you see?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“Nothing that’ll be of use to me when I enter the arena,” Obi-Wan replied, still looking at the tube. 

“Try again.” 

Obi-Wan sighed through his nose. He looked around the cell. At the white lights and Qui-Gon’s boots and the glass door that separated the cell from the room where the scientist now activated the tracking device. Obi-Wan looked back to the little tube. 

“A pressure plate,” Obi-Wan replied, tilting his head down to the tube. “Right there. It’s supposed to be hidden, and it’s small, but it’s there.” 

“Good. And you know that…” 

“Don’t step off the pressure plate,” Obi-Wan supplied. “Not before the timer ends. I know.” 

“What else?” 

Obi-Wan looked around the room again. He stepped towards the tube, tapped on the glass. Looked down at the platform and knelt down. “It’s…” He frowned. “Different.” 

“Different how?” 

“They’re not going to bring us up,” Obi-Wan replied. He turned around to Qui-Gon. “This plate _—_ it’s not the kind that goes _up_.” He glanced back down at the plate. It was shimmering a little. Not by a whole ton, but just enough for Obi-Wan to know that there was something else present. “What _—_ ” 

“Sixty seconds,” a voice said over the speakers. “Fifty-nine…” 

“It’s good that you’ve noticed,” Qui-Gon said. His voice was quiet. “Make sure to remember that when you enter the arena.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. “What do you _—_ ”

“And make sure you’re surrounded by people who have noticed those things too,” Qui-Gon said. “I know you don’t want allies, but you’ll need them. You’ll want them.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. “I already told you,” he said. “I hardly see Maul and Oppress as _—_ ”

“Not _them_ ,” Qui-Gon said. He straightened. “And from the way I see it, I think you’ve already made up your mind about who you want to ally yourself with, too.” 

Obi-Wan paused. “I’m not…” 

“Thirty,” the voice over the speakers said. 

They were both quiet. 

“Go,” Qui-Gon said at last. “You’re an observer, Obi-Wan. That will save your life. Count on it.” 

Obi-Wan paused. He had a feeling his father wanted to say more _—_ and suddenly, Obi-Wan wanted to say more, too. He wasn’t sure exactly what _—_ there had been many words wanted to be said since the games started. (And not just the reaping. Even before the reaping, when Obi-Wan first learned that he was going to be in the games, no matter what he wanted.) 

“I will,” Obi-Wan replied. He paused, turned to the cell that wasn’t quite a cell. He turned back around. 

“I don’t blame you,” Obi-Wan said at last. “For why I’m here.” 

Something flickered across Qui-Gon’s face. And then he bowed his head. “I will see you soon,” he said simply. 

Obi-Wan nodded. 

And he stepped into the cell. 

\--

Anakin knew from the moment he stepped on the plate that there was something _very weird_ about the whole situation. Because he had expected the plate to go _up_ , but nothing of the sort happened. And he realized a second too late that he should have known, because there was some odd little shimmer over the plate, but when he looked up, a bright light was already shining down on him, and then _—_

Anakin felt the heat first. A blistering, fiery heat that burned at his skin and carried with it the smell of something smoky and sour and rotten. 

He opened his eyes then, and he almost jumped back because in front of him _—_

A deep crater filled with lava that spat out flames. A few blackened rocks that worked as stepping stones to what Anakin realized was the Cornucopia: the center of the arena where there would be items necessary for survival. Weapons, medical kits, clothes, water, food. Things everyone needed. Things _he_ needed. 

Another flame hissed out of the crater and landed precariously close to Anakin’s boot. He would have jumped back if he hadn’t known to stay still on the plate: one step off, and he’d be blown up a mile high. One games had gone like that: a boy had dropped a ball, and the games had been delayed a few minutes so the Capitol could scrape his insides away. 

Anakin looked around. The other tributes had materialized: they had _all_ materialized. They were all wearing the same clothes he was, and for a few seconds, they all blinked, their eyes getting adjusted to the sudden lights around them. Anakin watched the panic and fear on some tributes’ faces as they registered the lava and the crater, while others looked wary and were already looking away _—_

 _Away_ _—_

Anakin turned his head around and breathed out a sigh of relief. 

So not everything were rocky volcanoes and lava _—_ below, in the distance, he saw a forest of pine trees. In the distance, something that looked suspiciously like snow. _No,_ Anakin realized, squinting, _that was definitely snow_. 

Snow and lava in one place. The game makers must have had their fun. 

Anakin turned back around in time for the great _boom_ of the clock somewhere above him. 

He hadn’t been paying attention. Fifteen seconds until the pressure plates would deactivate, and everyone would either run for the Cornucopia or run away. 

Anakin looked around the tributes again. He saw Maul beside him. His yellow eyes were already fixed on the Cornucopia with a hunger that Anakin knew he didn’t want to see up close. On his other side, Savage was looking at the Cornucopia with the same predator need. 

Anakin looked farther down the circle of tributes. He found Obi-Wan looking at the Cornucopia, but there was nothing on his face. He couldn’t tell what that one’s move would be. Maybe run for the Cornucopia, maybe run away. Maybe grab one of the other items…

And then somehow, Anakin found Ahsoka. District 11. 

The girl was staring determinedly at one specific thing sitting at the edge of the Cornucopia. From his angle, Anakin couldn’t tell what it was, but it must have been important. And Anakin’s chest tightened. A kid like Ahsoka, jumping through all the lava…

 _You shouldn’t care,_ a voice whispered at the back of his head. 

Anakin turned. And then he saw Maul’s eyes fix on Ahsoka, and then drift to whatever Ahsoka was looking at. Anakin still couldn’t tell what the fuss was about, but he saw Maul’s eyes light up briefly, and he knew then that Ahsoka was Maul’s first target. 

_You shouldn’t care_ _—_

When the cannon went off, Anakin didn’t think twice. 

Too much happened at once. He heard rapid footsteps everywhere around him, heard a sharp scream even before he took his second jump on the rocks. They weren’t planted in the lava _—_ they were _floating,_ Anakin realized, and for a heart-stopping second, he thought he would slip off and end things right there, when _—_

“Look _out_ ,” he heard, and then someone was grabbing back his shirt, and Anakin looked up in time to see Obi-Wan’s stormy eyes _—_ _huh_ _—_ before the tribute was speeding his way to the outskirts of the Cornucopia. 

And Maul was already running to where Ahsoka, Anakin saw, was now speeding to _—_

A rope. 

_The kid was risking her life for a rope?_

Anakin didn’t know how to make sense of that, but he didn’t have enough time to figure out District 11’s motives. He just ran forward, jumping over the rocks. He heard the hiss of flames, heard another distant cry somewhere. Anakin didn’t look to see what was going on. If there was a death, the cannons would tell him later. 

He saw Ahsoka step onto the rock holding the rope first. 

He saw Maul hop to the rock a moment later. 

He saw Maul’s hand reach out _—_

And Anakin landed right behind him. 

“Don’t think that’s yours,” Anakin said, and he kicked Maul as hard as he could. 

The good news: Anakin watched Ahsoka grab the rope and scamper away. 

The bad news: Maul didn’t slip off the rock. 

And Maul was angry. 

Maul spun around, his yellow eyes narrowed and teeth bared, and Anakin staggered a quick step back as Maul swung his fist. Anakin ducked, jumped to another rock. He balanced on it precariously, heard Maul’s angry roar behind him, and he knew it was time to _go_. 

\--

Ahsoka had no idea what District 3 was thinking when he helped her. Or if he had even meant to help her. But it didn’t matter, because she had a rope, and she was already skirting around the rest of the Cornucopia. She could hear District 2’s angry roar, but Ahsoka wasn’t worried about him. He was distracted. 

_But District 3…_

Anakin. That was his name. Anakin had been the one distracting Maul. 

_Stay focused_ , Ahsoka thought. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she leapt in time to avoid what looked like a small dart from _—_

 _District 10._ The one who had chewed on a piece of grain during his interview. The one who drawled out all his words. He was looking almost bored right now, holding a small tube that Ahsoka realized held all the darts. She could guarantee that just one of those darts could kill her on the spot. _How did he get that already? And has he already killed other tributes?_

Ahsoka ducked as another dart flew her way. She jumped to a rock, saw something glint in front of her. _Yes, knives_ _—_ _a weapon, she needs a weapon_ _—_

Ahsoka landed on top of the rock, swept the pair of knives up with her hand. She spun around in time to see a dart coming her way and _ducked_ _—_

She heard a cry behind her, but she didn’t look to see who had gotten hit instead of her. A knife, rope, that was all she could risk now. She had a weapon and she had...something she could use at some point later. She hadn’t really known why she wanted it, just that she _had_ , and that had gotten her the _9_ during the trials, so who was to say that rope was useless anyways? 

She clambered over the rock as another dart came spinning her way. _Can’t he pick on someone else?_

Ahsoka dove for the other rocks. She jumped on one, then the other, then the other. She could see the edge of the Cornucopia area now. Just a few more jumps, and she could run down the edge of this volcano and go right into the pine forest and hide out there—

But then she heard another shout, and this time, Ahsoka came to a stop. 

She turned around to see District 8—Barriss—crash to the ground just as a dart flew over her head. The hem of her pants leg was already torn and singed, and there was already ash streaked across her face, but when she looked up, Ahsoka didn’t see any other injuries. 

Ahsoka found Barriss’ eyes, and for a moment, they just stared at each other—

And then another dart came flying past. 

“Get _up_ ,” Ahsoka said, grabbing Barriss’ elbow. She yanked as hard as she could, and before she could think better of it, she started tugging themselves down the side of the volcano as more darts came flying past. Ahsoka found Barriss’ hand in the chaos, and to her surprise, Barriss’ hand was warmer than she thought it would be. 

“Forest,” Barriss panted. 

“I know!” 

Their feet and legs seemed to tumble over each other as they sprinted down the side of the volcano. Rocks came flying up under them, and once or twice, Ahsoka thought for sure that either Barriss or herself would trip, but they seemed to tug each other up at the exact moment any of them were in danger of falling. 

They crashed into the forest together, hands still gripping each other’s. 

Darkness enveloped them both, and for a moment, Ahsoka couldn’t see beyond the trees directly in front of her. Whatever light there was or had been was completely blocked by the tall pines, and yet, Ahsoka still somehow knew just which trees to dodge. Nights working the fields at night had taught her that much back home—and for a brief moment, she thought that her dad and her brothers might be proud, and then she remembered that they could be watching her right now. 

That information made Ahsoka’s legs move faster, her tug a little more insistent on Barriss. “We have to lose him,” she said. She looked over her shoulder. It had been a few seconds since the darts had stopped firing, but still, she couldn’t be sure if—

“I think we already did,” Barriss replied, but she didn’t stop running either. “He has to— _ah_ —he has to be looking for something at the Cornucopia by now.” 

“Or other tributes,” Ahsoka managed. “Don’t stop.” 

“Wasn’t planning to,” Barriss replied. 

They ran. 

\--

So Obi-Wan had been partially correct. They had been on top of _some_ form of mountain, although he hadn’t expected the volcano. That was new. And there _was_ some form of condensation nearby—the snow in the distance was proof of that. As well as the trees…

And then he had spent the remaining seconds of the time both observing the other tributes—some tributes, he knew, were going to ignore the Cornucopia entirely and bolt for the trees. Other tributes had been looking steadily at the weapons or at the kits laid around on the rocks. They probably wouldn’t go straight to the center of the Cornucopia, but still. They would be satisfied with whatever they got, _if_ they got it at all. 

And then Obi-Wan had seen movement out of the corner of his eye. He had watched District 3—Anakin Skywalker—suddenly tense up, and he’d seen what Anakin saw. 

District 11, right across from them. She was looking at something Obi-Wan couldn’t quite see, but he already had the feeling that she had made up her mind about what to do as well. 

Interesting. And yet, Obi-Wan wasn’t at all surprised. 

When the cannon went off, he found that he wasn’t surprised when Anakin lunged forward. 

_Always on the move_ , Obi-Wan thought. The idiot hadn’t paid attention to the fact that the rocks weren’t actually grounded in anything. They were all hovering close over the lava—but not enough for it to actually be stable. 

So when Anakin lunged, Obi-Wan was already just a rock away. He reached forward and dragged Anakin back before he could topple over the edge. “Look _out_.” 

Anakin let out a sharp breath as Obi-Wan yanked him back. He looked up at Obi-Wan briefly, and Obi-Wan only shook his head. Whether more to himself or to Anakin, Obi-Wan didn’t know. 

He let go of Anakin and leapt his way to the Cornucopia. Just as he’d suspected, most of the tributes had either skirted the edges or were already on their way to the forest. Obi-Wan grabbed a bag—he didn’t know what was in it, but he could hope for the best—and had only just started to make his way back out when he saw movement. 

He turned quickly, but no, there was nothing coming after him—just District 11, Ahsoka Tano, jumping away at full speed. Obi-Wan watched a dart come hurtling past her, but she ducked her head. She leapt over the rocks with a certain agility and grace that Obi-Wan had a feeling might have attributed to her _9_ in the trials. 

But the darts—

Obi-Wan re-shouldered his bag. He decided he didn’t want to stick around to find out what those darts could or would do, given the chance. And he certainly didn’t want to stick around to discover the chances. 

Obi-Wan turned around. He was just about to make his way out of the Cornucopia when he instead came nearly face-first to an oncoming sword point. 

Obi-Wan leapt backwards at the last second as Savage leered at him. He had his hands gripping two swords— _feeling greedy today, I see,_ Obi-Wan thought—and he didn’t so much have to jump as to just step across the rocks to make his way to Obi-Wan. 

Not turning around, Obi-Wan jumped backwards to another rock. A flame hissed nearby him, and the air shimmered around him in the heat. But he could still see Savage advancing, his yellow eyes cold and hard. 

Obi-Wan briefly wondered if he had enough time to check his pack for some weapon—a knife, maybe, but no, that took too much time. But if he could get to the center of the Cornucopia...he could find something there. Then again, he could also very well find another opponent, but Obi-Wan knew he was running out of other options. 

Obi-Wan spread out his arms. _Well?_

Savage lunged. 

And Obi-Wan turned and bolted for the center of the Cornucopia. 

He could feel Savage’s steps thundering after him, but he didn’t dare turn around. His eyes skirted around the center of the Cornucopia—still some weapons, he found, but would they be enough—

Obi-Wan caught sight of something then: another sword. When Obi-Wan picked it up, he found the grip light, easy. Wondered if it had been left there for him, but there wasn’t any more time to linger on that: he spun around in time to meet Savage’s blades. 

Somewhere, he heard the clash of other weapons—lighter weapons, but they were coming close. Obi-Wan knew that there would be more company soon. 

He shoved back at Savage’s blades, started to move out of the Cornucopia—and felt something, no _someone_ —ram into his back. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Anakin said, breathing hard. 

“I was about to say the same,” Obi-Wan replied. “What are you—”

Maul came into view a second later. Obi-Wan had been right: Maul was carrying a lighter weapon, a double-tipped spear. 

_Ah,_ Obi-Wan thought. _Not good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop broke over the weekend, so as of now, I'm mostly relying on my school's chromebooks to write! As of now, that might interfere a little bit with my writing process, since all of my files are saved on my laptop (and I never used Google Docs, RIP), so that adds a bit of time when it comes to formatting issues. However! I'm hoping to get a new laptop in the near future, so hopefully, things will be back to normal. 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> (And oh, yes. You can fully expect the chapters to be significantly longer from this point onward.)


	7. Friends and Enemies (Part Two)

Anakin figured things could probably be worse. Infinitely, definitely, madly worse. He could already have been cut, for one thing. He could have been bleeding out, but for some reason, nothing had gotten ahold of him yet, which Anakin decided was a pretty brave feat, considering that the two people in front of him were holding weapons, and Anakin wasn’t. 

But Obi-Wan was—he had a sword in his hands now, and he had just shoved Savage’s blades away from himself when Anakin came crashing into his back. 

For a disorienting second, Anakin realized that this would probably be the perfect time for Obi-Wan to kill him right here: Anakin weaponless, the two of them in close quarters...besides, weren’t Careers supposed to gang up together anyways? 

But Obi-Wan only flicked his eyes to the back of the Cornucopia. “Check over there,” he said. 

“What?” 

“Unless your arms can magically turn into swords, _check back there_ ,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes not leaving Savage or Maul, who was making his slow, steady way towards them. “ _Now_.” 

Anakin turned around. At first, he couldn’t see anything—the center of the Cornucopia was dark, only briefly lit by the flames that occasionally spouted up from the pool of lava around them. But at the way back, Anakin thought he saw something glinting. That, Anakin decided, was good enough for him. 

He felt movement behind him, and Anakin spun around, already tensing for a fight, but no, it was just Obi-Wan, lifting his sword again. The shriek of metal on metal split through the air, followed by a hiss that might have been laughter from the other tributes or from the lava still bubbling around them. And Anakin decided that it was probably a good idea for him to not linger on that fact. He spun back around to the Cornucopia and ran forward—or, at least, ran the best he could. His shoes were still too big, and only now—of _course_ , only now—was Anakin starting to realize just how much of a disadvantage that was, because his feet felt weighed down, and he could already feel one of the boots loosening. 

No time to focus on that. 

Anakin caught the glinting object, swept down to wrap his hands around a cool hilt. Sword hilt. 

Anakin lifted up the sword, stared. He hadn’t actually used swords in the training room before—just a few practice stabs at a dummy before Anakin had tossed the sword away, because what point was there in practicing with a dummy that couldn’t stab back? 

Anakin grimaced, turning back around to the edge of the Cornucopia. 

_Well_ , he thought, adjusting his grip on the sword hilt. Those few jabs at a standing dummy would have to do now. 

He had only just formed that thought when he heard the next shriek of metal against metal. Anakin looked up to find Obi-Wan standing amongst one of the hollowed part of rock in the Cornucopia, his sword pressed against Savage’s swords and Maul’s spear. Obi-Wan was backing up against the rock, one foot resting on the rock wall behind him, the other planted on the ground, and for a moment, Anakin wondered if maybe Savage and Maul would press in, but then—

Obi-Wan kicked himself up, flying over Maul and Savage’s heads and landing neatly a few feet in front of Anakin. “Are you just taking your time now?” Obi-Wan asked over his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Anakin replied, twisting the sword hilt. “Just enjoying the view.” 

Obi-Wan wasn’t looking at him, but judging by the sound he made, Anakin figured that his attempt at humor wasn’t doing much to help the mood. Which Anakin wasn’t trying to, anyways. Hard to make jokes when there were still two significantly bulkier tributes standing at the mouth of the Cornucopia, looking red-eyed and ready to kill. 

Anakin drew up his sword, the metal glinting against the light of the lava. He caught his own reflection briefly, found that there was already ash and dirt streaked across his face. Anakin processed that for only a second before he was looking back up at Maul and Savage. 

“And so,” Maul said, taking a step towards them, “we begin at last.” He drew the spear towards himself, a smile spreading across his face. “I had been waiting.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Neither can I,” Anakin muttered. He jerked his head at Savage. “Do you talk too, or is it just your friend?” The low growl from Savage was all Anakin needed to let him know that Maul was the one who did most of the talking. That was fine. He preferred not to have any more conversation with these two than he had to, anyways. 

As though reading Anakin’s mind, Maul smiled again, his spear shifting a little in his hand. 

Anakin saw both Maul and Savage tense, and he knew then that they were going to strike. 

Which was how Anakin and Obi-Wan knew how to strike, too. 

It was bizarre: they didn’t have to say anything to each other. The two of them surged as one, both of them pushing back against Maul and Savage’s blows with equal force and strength. Immediately, Anakin heard the clang and crash of weapons hitting each other, followed by the heavy thuds of bodies being pushed away, and then Anakin felt a rush of hot air as he catapulted himself a little too close to the lava—

But Anakin found solid ground again, and he turned in time to see Obi-Wan standing on a rock close to him. 

Behind him, Maul and Savage were already getting up from the edge of the Cornucopia, already turning towards them and ready to follow—

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan. 

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked. “ _Run_.” 

\--

Obi-Wan figured things could have gone better. For one, he hadn’t planned to actually go into the heart of the Cornucopia—his plan had been to grab a bag of supplies and leave, and yet, here he was, bolting down the side of the volcano with the boy from District 3 who had just joined him a few minutes ago. 

They crashed through the trees together, snapping twigs and pine needles underfoot as they went. Obi-Wan wished they were quieter, but then again, he was sure that if Savage and Maul were following them, noise wouldn’t be too much of an issue anyways. 

But Obi-Wan didn’t hear anyone following him. There weren’t even any birds, no other animals. Obi-Wan found that troubling—there had to be _some_ animals here. The gamemakers always provided some animals, mostly to keep people from starving. But if there weren’t any animals…

Obi-Wan would think about that later. 

“I don’t think they’re following us anymore,” Anakin said eventually. He was running a little oddly, Obi-Wan realized. Running in a way that told Obi-Wan Anakin didn’t _usually_ run this way—Obi-Wan had seen him run laps around the training room before, and Obi-Wan realized with a start that he already knew how Anakin ran—but right now, there was something awkward in his steps. Still, Anakin kept pressing forward, looking over his shoulder every so often. “I don’t see anything.” 

Obi-Wan risked a glance backwards himself. “No,” he said after a moment. “You’re right. They’re not following us.” 

As soon as Obi-Wan said those words, Anakin came to a stop. 

And Obi-Wan, to his own annoyance, stopped as well. 

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked, although he wasn’t sure if he was asking the question more to Anakin or himself. “They could still follow us.” 

“But they’re not,” Anakin replied. “We’d hear them by now.” He looked around the forest. “And besides, I want to save my strength for the next time we have to run or fight. Or both. Maybe at the same time.” 

_We_ —there were one too many _we_ ’s in those few short sentences that Anakin had uttered just now. 

“So that’s your plan,” Obi-Wan said, adjusting the bag around his shoulders. “Walk around through this forest enough to save your strength and _hope_ that the other tributes won’t find you first?” 

“Well, there’s more steps than just _that_ ,” Anakin said. He was leaning against a tree now, fiddling with the sword handle. “Unless _you’ve_ got some grand ideas.” He turned to the tree, hacked off a part of the bark with his sword. 

Obi-Wan watched Anakin for a moment. And then he said, “ _Do_ you want to know my grand idea, then?” 

“Please,” Anakin replied. 

“Good.” Obi-Wan slipped off his backpack, set it down on the ground. He knelt down next to it and flipped open the flap. A knife, empty canteens. An extra jacket. Obi-Wan looked up at the canopy of pine above him. It was fairly warm now, but Obi-Wan didn’t doubt that the temperatures would drop once night fell. He plucked out the jacket and an empty canteen and tossed it to Anakin. 

Anakin caught them. “Is this…” 

“You take those,” Obi-Wan replied, standing up and swinging the bag back over his shoulders. “And walk in the direction opposite from me.” 

Anakin blinked. “You’re…” 

“What happened back at the Cornucopia served us both well,” Obi-Wan replied, adjusting his grip on his sword, “but I trust that you know exactly how this ends.” 

Anakin blinked again. And then, nodding slowly, he slung the jacket over himself. Obi-Wan was glad that the water canteen fit nicely into his pocket. And then he realized that he shouldn’t be glad. This was the wrong place to be glad or relieved. 

He wasn’t sure if Anakin knew the same—Obi-Wan wasn’t sure Anakin knew the same at all until the tribute gave the smallest of nods to Obi-Wan. So he knew. He knew as well as Obi-Wan did that at the end of the day, there would only ever be one victor, even if there were alliances and truces made—there would only ever be one who could go home, and Obi-Wan wasn’t entirely certain if Anakin Skywalker was the type of person to lie down and let someone else go home instead of himself. And Obi-Wan didn’t expect him to lie down, either—he wouldn’t expect anyone to do that, which was why, he realized, he had to leave now.

So he nodded to Anakin, and Anakin nodded back.

Obi-Wan was about to turn around and head to the left—he wasn’t sure what he’d find, but just as long as Anakin went to the right, he decided they’d be fine. But he had only taken a few steps when Anakin called after him. 

“I won’t forget this,” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan paused. 

He turned around. 

Anakin was still leaning against the tree, his hand resting protectively on the hilt of his sword. He looked oddly determined that way, and Obi-Wan decided that being determined might actually save his life in the long run. 

“I’m asking you to,” Obi-Wan replied. 

He turned around and walked in the other direction. 

\--

Ahsoka figured that things could possibly be worse. She could have no items or equipment at all, and she could have died. She hadn’t thought that brutal Maul would come after her first—but then again, maybe she _should_ have seen that coming. After all, they’d had that little...whatever that was in the training room. _And_ Ahsoka was one of the only tributes to have gotten a _9..._ she knew that should have painted a target on her back, no matter how hard she had tried to play innocent. 

And then there was that other tribute, the one with the darts...Cad Bane. That was his name. Ahsoka remembered how he had twirled something around in his mouth during the entirety of his interview. He had worn a funny hat on the day of the reaping, too, and Ahsoka could only remember the deadset way that he seemed to hold himself, the casual drawl of his voice. This wasn’t someone Ahsoka wanted on her tail, and yet, just her luck, he had been the one to target her, too. 

And on top of all of that, Ahsoka was still tugging alongside Barriss Offee, who, out of everyone in the arena, Ahsoka had hoped _not_ to run into, because they had exchanged one too many smiles and spent one minute longer than Ahsoka would have liked for them to actually be in the arena together. 

But things could still be worse. Ahsoka could not have had any weapons at all. She might not have had any equipment at all. And, of course, she could be very, very dead, whether it be through lava or a spear or a dart to the back or her neck. 

“Is he still following us?” Ahsoka panted, still dragging Barriss along. She didn’t dare look back—she only weaved between the pine trees, her feet clumsily stumbling over each other as they went. She was glad that she had bothered to stuff the tissues in her boots in the first place—she was sure that if she hadn’t, they would have fallen off a long, long time ago. Ahsoka wondered briefly if maybe only her boots were like this. She almost laughed at the idea. That would have been hilarious for the Capitol, she bet. Watch the only other child with a _9_ run around the arena with a pair of shoes that didn’t fit her, because why _not_ make the games all that more fun? 

Ahsoka heard Barriss gasping beside her, felt the slight squeeze in their hands as Barriss turned around to look behind them. 

“I don’t think so,” the girl said after a while. 

Neither of them stopped running. Neither of them let go of their hands, either, even though Ahsoka knew that that technically would have been a good idea. They would just slow each other down as they ran, after all, and Ahsoka knew that if she fell, then Barriss would come crashing down with her. 

Neither of them let go. 

They kept running, running, running, until finally, Barriss gasped, “Slow down.” 

“Do you think—” 

“I don’t think there’s anyone around us anymore,” Barriss replied. She pointed down to the ground. “Look. No tracks. No disturbances.” 

Ahsoka looked down at the ground. There were fallen pine needles and grass and dirt and twigs, but Barriss was right: there was no sign that someone had come stomping or running through this area. They were alone. 

Ahsoka slowed her pace. They still didn’t stop moving, but it was just enough for both Ahsoka and Barriss to steady their breaths. Ahsoka became aware of how dim the pine forest was now: the volcano was at least bright because of the fire, but the pine forest was so densely populated with trees that save for the few patches of sunlight on the ground, Ahsoka couldn’t quite tell what time of day it was. 

_How long_ …

It couldn’t have been that long since the Cornucopia fiasco. Ahsoka tried to remember if she saw anyone die there: most tributes died at the very beginning, when everyone was struggling for weapons or for supplies. And Ahsoka could imagine so many tributes already falling into the lava, should they not have been careful...but Ahsoka couldn’t remember seeing anyone fall. 

“Did anyone…” Ahsoka started to ask. 

“Almost,” Barriss replied. “Girl from District 9 might have burned herself, but she was able to get out before anything worse could happen. The other tributes ran out as fast as they could. I think there might have been something between District 5 and District 4…

The brute with the yellow eyes who had partnered with Maul. Savage. 

Ahsoka remembered the young woman from District 5: the one with the long braids down her back. Ahsoka couldn’t remember what she had been doing in the training room, but Ahsoka was certain that she might have gotten one of the higher scores during the judgement time. Ahsoka hoped that District 5 wasn’t dead yet. She supposed they would all find out later. 

“So you don’t know about anyone else?” 

“No,” Barriss replied. She cast Ahsoka a sidelong glance. “And you?” 

“I didn’t see much either,” Ahsoka replied. “I just got out as fast as I could.” 

“You had some help.” 

Ahsoka paused. She looked at Barriss fully. The girl’s expression was casual enough, but her deep blue eyes said something otherwise. Ahsoka wasn’t quite sure how to interpret that except to just nod. Nod, and then Ahsoka replied, “I don’t know why that happened, trust me.” 

“He helped you before, in the training room,” Barriss pointed out. “Have you two…” 

“No,” Ahsoka replied before Barriss could even finish asking the question. Before Ahsoka even knew what the question actually was. “Nothing like that.” 

“And yet he…” 

“I don’t know either,” Ahsoka replied. She fiddled with the knives at her side. She was glad that she had picked them up, and she wondered if maybe she should offer Barriss one right now—Barriss didn’t seem to have anything on her, but then Ahsoka realized that she wasn’t about to give the only other tribute beside her a weapon just yet. 

“You saved _me_ ,” Barriss pointed out. 

Ahsoka snorted. “I wouldn’t call that saving,” she said. “I just…” She looked at Barriss and looked to the front of themselves, to where the ground still lay undisturbed. “I just think you were at the right place at the right time.” She cleared her throat and, looking down at their hands, Ahsoka held them up. “Truce?” 

Barriss smiled. It was a nice one, the same one that she had given Ahsoka at the chariots and in the training room and before their interviews. 

_This might not be real_ , Ahsoka thought. _This could be very, very, very not real._

“Truce,” Barriss replied. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Chapters from here on out will be longer," I said. "Probably 5K - 7K words," I said. 
> 
> Ah, so I know this chapter is significantly shorter than my usual chapter lengths, so I'm sorry! We'll be back to regular business next week, but this week was just a little crazy. 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	8. Friends and Enemies (Part Three)

Anakin didn't really know where he was going. Just that he was walking in the direction decidedly opposite from Obi-Wan. He didn't bother turning around to see where the tribute was going. Anakin decided that he didn't really want to know.

He looked down at the sword in his hand. A weapon. He had managed to at least snag a weapon in the chaos at the Cornucopia. He figured that was better than nothing—no, _much_ better than nothing, because Anakin was pretty sure there were still more than a handful of tributes who hadn't managed to get anything at all. There were always tributes like that, although Anakin wouldn't put it past any of the tributes to die right away, either. There had been some victors who had proved that they didn't need weapons to win the games.

Still, Anakin supposed that it didn't hurt that he had something to fend other people off with. He spun the sword around his wrist as he stepped over pine needles and fallen branches. He couldn't tell how much time had passed: there wasn't too much light filtering through the tree canopy, save for the occasional glimmer of sun against a rock.

Anakin stuck a hand in his jacket pocket, curled his hand around the empty canteen. He should find water.

Anakin looked around the forest. There were so many trees—they _had_ to have water nearby.

But then again, this was also an arena made by a group of sadists, so for all Anakin knew, the only source of water might have been the patch of snow Anakin had seen when he had first entered the arena. But that area of snow had been on the other side, and if Anakin was supposed to walk through this entire forest…

Anakin listened for something that might indicate otherwise: a stream, a pond, anything.

All he got was silence.

Anakin frowned. _That_ was weird. He looked around the forest. He would have at least expected bugs, at least. Birds, definitely. There had always been animals in past games, but right now, no sound greeted Anakin.

A chill ran up Anakin's spine. He tightened his grip on the sword and pressed forward.

So no animals. No birds, which also meant less of a chance to find water. So he really might have to walk through this whole forest…

Anakin's feet were already aching from walking and running around in these too-large boots. He took another two, three steps forward before coming to a stop. Anakin looked down at his shoes and scowled. _Thanks,_ he thought to no one in particular.

Leaning against a tree, Anakin took off one of the boots. He turned it upside down, patted out the last of the dirt before looking down at his jacket. The one that Obi-Wan had tossed him. Anakin shrugged out of his jacket and set it down on the ground. He didn't have anything else, so this would have to do.

Anakin tore the bottom half of the jacket with the sword. He remembered seeing his mom doing something like this—his mom always had shoes that never really fit her, either. They were always too big or too small, and Anakin had watched her walk around with a limp that shouldn't have been there.

Anakin balled up the fabric and stuffed them in the boots. He swung the now shorter jacket over his shoulders, picked up his sword again. Anakin stood up and, brushing the dirt from his hands, started back down the forest when he heard it.

A creak of a branch.

Anakin didn't slow his step as he heard the sound again: quieter this time, but definitely there.

Above him.

Anakin adjusted his grip on the sword.

He took another few steps forward, and he heard that creaking again, and Anakin knew that he was being followed. Judging by the sounds, one of the smaller, younger tributes. For a brief second, Anakin wondered if it could possibly be District 11—but no, she had run off far before Anakin had, and there was no way Anakin could have caught up to her by now.

Anakin tried to think of the other possibilities—but no, he couldn't think, because that creaking had come again, and Anakin heard the whistle of _something_ coming behind him—

At the last second, Anakin jumped out of the way. He stopped short next to a tree as he spotted a knife glinting on the spot where he had just been. Anakin stared at it for a moment incredulously before looking up to see a young boy—District 12, Anakin realized—scrambling up the tree branches.

The boy looked over his shoulder once, and for a moment, Anakin thought the boy would just keep running away—but no, Anakin saw the glint of another life a second later, and this time, Anakin ducked behind a tree in time to avoid getting his face sliced open. The knife hit the tree behind Anakin instead, and he watched the hilt slightly sway from the impact.

Anakin heard more creaking above him—faster now, quicker footfalls.

He couldn't stay here.

Anakin looked up.

 _Or he had to get the kid down_.

Anakin twisted the sword around in his wrist.

 _Or_.

Anakin looked at the knife still wobbling in the tree behind him. He reached over and plucked the knife out of the bark. He turned the handle over in his hand and looked back up at the branches. At the boy, still dancing amongst them. Anakin could already see him palming another knife. _How many did this kid even have?_

Anakin glanced to the opposite tree. He already saw the first branch he could climb up, then the next.

Anakin stepped up.

He had only reached the first branch when he felt something hit his head—hard—and hit the ground.

\--

Ahsoka stepped over a fallen tree branch. There wasn't anyone around her save for Barriss, but still, Ahsoka didn't want to risk stepping on anything too loud in this place.

This place, which had grown drastically darker.

Ahsoka hadn't been too sure what to make of the darkness at first. The sunlight—what little there was of it, anyways—had been difficult enough to keep track of, with the thick branches overhead, but now Ahsoka could barely see a few steps in front of herself, and judging by Barriss' faltering steps, she had the feeling she wasn't the only one growing uneasy by the darkness.

"Maybe we should…"

"Set up camp?" Ahsoka finished. She looked at Barriss, and even in the darkness, Ahsoka could see the glint of her new ally's eyes.

"Exactly," Barriss replied. She lifted her head to the tree branches ahead. "Staying above ground might be safer."

Ahsoka thought of all the ways someone could sneak up and slit her throat just on the ground alone. Then again, she supposed Barriss could also slit her throat in her sleep either way, but if they were on a tree branch, Ahsoka figured she probably had a better chance of shoving Barriss off. The thought made Ahsoka feel cold, and when she looked at Barriss, she wondered if her ally was thinking the same thing.

But Ahsoka nodded. "Choose a tree," she said.

Ahsoka thought she saw Barriss smile, but it was too dark to tell.

Barriss turned on the spot. And after a few moments, she pointed to the tree in front of them. "That one."

"Well, then," Ahsoka said, stepping back. "After you."

Barriss nodded. She hopped up to the tree, and Ahsoka watched as Barriss climbed up the tree with surprising ease. Ahsoka waited until Barriss was a few feet in the air before following. She found that climbing wasn't difficult either, even as the bark scratched at her palms. She kept up with Barriss' pace, and in no time at all, they were both sitting on one of the thicker branches, their legs dangling over the edge.

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence.

"How many do you think died tonight?" Barriss asked after a while.

Ahsoka looked down at the ground. It was dark enough that she didn't worry about anyone finding their tracks. "I don't know," she replied. "Did you see anyone…"

"No," Barriss replied. She looked at Ahsoka and paused. "Do you mind if I climb up?"

Ahsoka realized that maybe Barriss was just as wary of herself, too.

"Sure." Ahsoka scooted against the trunk so Barriss could more easily haul herself up to an upper branch. Once that was done, Ahsoka found herself leaning against the trunk by herself. She stretched out her legs on the branch, brought up one knee to her chest. She tried to think of next steps. Get water. Get food. Try not to run into any more tributes.

Ahsoka closed her eyes. Water and food. Those were priorities for tomorrow. Her stomach growled a little now, and again, Ahsoka wondered where all the animals were, if there were any at all. But if there weren't any, Ahsoka figured there had to at least be some edible plants...her dad had made her learn about all those plants, after all, and he would be ashamed if she didn't find something in this stupid forest—

Ahsoka blinked her eyes open. Edible plants. _Right_.

She turned around to the trunk and grinned.

A few seconds later, Ahsoka took to cutting away a piece of bark. She heard Barriss stir above her and a moment later, Barriss asked, "What are you _doing_? If someone hears us—"

"Relax," Ahsoka replied, "no one can hear us up here." She loosed a piece of bark and passed it up to Barriss. "Besides. Dinner."

A beat of silence and then Barriss said, "Of _course_."

"Uh-huh," Ahsoka replied, sticking a piece of bark in her mouth. She winced—it was tougher than she thought it would be. But then again, she supposed sh couldn't complain.

"I thought District 11 didn't have pine trees," Barriss said.

"We don't," Ahsoka replied. She took another bite of the bark. This time, it went down a little easier, but still, Ahsoka wished that she could have found some more manageable plant thing to eat. She remembered her dad saying something about boiling pine needles, but Ahsoka didn't want to go down to the ground to make a fire now. Pine needles, pine bark...Ahsoka hoped that the game makers didn't seriously expect the tributes to live off the trees for the entirety of the games. Or maybe they did. She wouldn't put it past them, but…

Ahsoka grimly took another bite out of the bark. "We'll find better food tomorrow," she said decidedly.

"I can't complain," Barriss said lightly. "This is fine."

Despite herself, Ahsoka managed a smile. "We're still finding better things tomorrow," she said.

"As you wish," Barriss replied.

They were quiet for a little while longer before Ahsoka said, "I can take the first watch."

"Are you sure?"

Ahsoka didn't get to reply: trumpets sounded through the arena loud enough to shake the branches around her. Ahsoka straightened, and she reached down to grab ahold of the branch she was sitting on so she wouldn't fall off. Above, she heard Barriss trying to do the same thing as—

"We are pleasantly surprised to share that there have been no deaths tonight," came the announcer's voice. There was a pause. Ahsoka imagined there were other tributes straightening at this news too—and probably feeling the same mixture of dread in their stomachs. There were still twelve of them.

"Happy Hunger Games."

The trumpets sounded again, and then there was silence.

\--

The arena was too quiet.

Obi-Wan had already known that it was too quiet since he had parted ways with Anakin—without another person actually at his side, Obi-Wan had only become more aware of how little _sound_ there was. He had gone through the entirety of the silence when the trumpets started playing and the announcements came on.

 _No deaths_.

Obi-Wan leaned back against the tree he had chosen to settle for the night. He kept both of his legs on the branch—he didn't need anyone seeing even the slightest movement of his legs, even if the darkness might make it difficult for anyone to see anything.

Obi-Wan kept his sword at his side too. He wisted it around in his hand. _Swords_. He hadn't always used swords in his own private lessons, but Qui-Gon had still been insistent that Obi-Wan learn at least a little bit of each weapon. (Only that insistence, of course, had only come up after Qui-Gon had discovered that Obi-Wan was training himself to begin with.)

Obi-Wan looked up at the small patch of sky above him. That was another thing about the arena—there were no stars. Just a deep, uneasy blackness that made Obi-Wan feel like he was closing his eyes.

So Obi-Wan closed his eyes now.

Only he didn't fall asleep. He was still very aware of the sword hilt in his hand and the rough branch underneath him and the pine needles gently shaking down in the breeze.

 _Pay attention_.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed. Quiet—the arena was too quiet.

And it wasn't that Obi-Wan minded the quiet: he had gotten used to the quiet in his own home, and he had gotten used to the quiet as one would an old friend. But this kind of quiet unsettled Obi-Wan. This kind of quiet reminded Obi-Wan too much of the quiet that had occurred both before and after Qui-Gon had told him that he would be going into the games, no matter whose name Satine pulled out of the lottery.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and re-focused on the patch of black sky above him. He didn't need those thoughts to distract him right now. What mattered was that he was still in the arena now, and he still had the games to win.

Obi-Wan shifted against the tree trunk again, not minding if it grated a little against his back. He rested an arm over a raised-up knee and looked down at the ground below him. He couldn't see much save for the occasional upraised root that dared take shape against the blackness. But besides that, there was nothing.

Obi-Wan had just closed his eyes when that nothing was interrupted.

Running footsteps—no, not running footsteps, _staggering_ footsteps—dragged Obi-Wan's eyes back open. Staggering footsteps, followed by loud breaths and a strange keening sound that sent the hairs at the back of Obi-Wan's neck on end.

He straightened against the tree trunk and looked to the direction where the noise was coming from—

And a moment later, a young woman with twin braids down her back—District 5—crashed through the trees. Obi-Wan couldn't make out her face, but he could hear her: the raw, hard breaths coming out of her throat, that strange, terrified keening sound that Obi-Wan had a bad feeling about.

He looked out from where District 5 had just come from. He couldn't _see_ anyone following, but when he looked down, he could see that the tribute was clearly limping. Limping, and—

And then she was falling, not even bothering to catch herself with her hands as she hit the ground. Obi-Wan wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, slowly stood up on the branch. He looked again to where District 5 had just come from. And again, he couldn't hear anyone coming after her, but…

Obi-Wan stared down at District 5.

She was moving still, but not really _moving_ anywhere. Her legs and arm twitched, her face still buried into the ground.

Obi-Wan paused. He could still hear her ragged breaths—she was struggling now, gasping and choking on her own spit.

And then, so quietly that Obi-Wan might not have heard it if he wasn't already listening: " _Please_."

Obi-Wan's blood ran cold as District 5 turned her head. Somehow, she had managed at least that much—and Obi-Wan saw the gleam of blood on her mouth.

She was looking at him.

She had known he was there—somehow, she had known.

" _Please_ ," she whispered again, and Obi-Wan understood.

He climbed down the tree and curled his hand around the hilt of his sword.

She stopped twitching.

And then the buzzing started.

\--

Anakin woke up to a pair of curious green eyes that were too close for comfort.

And apparently too close for comfort for the owner of the eyes too, because District 12 backed away with a surprised yelp. A surprised yelp, that was, and a scramble up the tree in front of Anakin. Not that District 12 really needed to do that—Anakin's head hurt too much for him to understand what was going on except that first of all, it was _dark_ , and second of all, he was lying on the ground.

 _How long had he been_ —

Anakin jerked up, his hand already closing around—

 _Sword. Where'd the sword_ —

Anakin looked up and there, in the higher branches, he spotted the glint of the sword resting at the edge.

"You've got to be kidding me," Anakin muttered. He started to stand up—tried to stand up, but his head hurt, and for a moment, Anakin could only see a blur of the ground and the tree in front of him. He brought a hand up to his head, saw the red of the blood come away on his fingertips.

 _Huh_.

Anakin lifted his head back. District 12 was still watching him, albeit from a higher branch.

"So," he said, his voice coming out hoarser than he expected. _How long had he been out?_ "Couldn't do it?"

"You were _supposed_ to die," came the boy's annoyed response.

"Sorry to disappoint," Anakin muttered, looking around the base of the tree. He looked back up at the boy. He was still hovering near the branches, his green eyes narrowed now. It struck Anakin odd that this was somehow the same kid who had just been throwing knives at him just a few... _hours_ ago? Probably hours. He didn't feel _that_ stiff.

"So you're not gonna bother finishing it?" Anakin asked. "Because if you're not…" He pointed to the branch high above the boy's head. "I'd like that back."

"So you can kill me? I don't think so," the boy shot back.

 _Fair_ , Anakin thought.

"It's not like I can get up to you anyways," Anakin said.

" _Good_ ," the boy said. He climbed up another branch of the tree.

Anakin waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for—most likely another knife. In that case, Anakin wasn't sure exactly how fast he could be. Or how coordinated he would be. Anakin brought his hand to his head again, tried not to wince at the wet feeling on his fingertips. _Head wounds usually bleed a lot_. It could just be worse than it actually was.

Anakin dropped his hand back down to his side. "So you're not gonna bother finishing it?" he repeated. He waved a hand. "Right here, kid."

The boy scowled, and for a moment, he seemed to reach for something—one of his knives, Anakin was sure, but then he looked back down at Anakin.

Anakin looked back up at him.

 _There had to be a way he could get up there_ …

The boy looked away first. And then he was climbing higher and higher up the tree. Anakin watched the boy pick up the sword and keep climbing until ANakin couldn't see him anymore. At least, for that moment—

And then, right when Anakin thought that the boy had somehow, miraculously decided to leave him alone, a knife came flying his way.

Anakin dove out of the way as the knife dug itself into the ground. His head spun with the effort, and the world tilted dangerously for a moment, and there was a strange buzzing in his ears, but now— _now_ Anakin had a weapon—

Anakin ducked his head against the tree as another knife came flying down towards him.

He looked to where the two knives now sat on the ground.

His stomach twisted.

He picked them both up, and he had just started turning to look up at the tree when—

The buzzing had grown louder in Anakin's head.

Or he had _thought_ it was in his head.

He heard the rustle of branches above him, and Anakin watched as District 12 suddenly dove away. He was faster than Anakin expected, and, to his annoyance, carrying his sword, but he was running _away_ —

Anakin turned around.

And then he was running, too.

\--

Ahsoka woke up with a start.

At first, she didn't know why—it was still dark out, and she didn't _see_ anyone coming out of the trees, but then she heard it: a soft, insistent buzzing that hadn't been in the forest before.

Ahsoka looked up to find that Barriss was already awake. She was sitting up too, her eyes turned to the trees beyond. When noticing that Ahsoka was awake, Barriss whispered, "Do you hear that too?"

"Yes." Ahsoka stood up, resting on the branch above her. She paused. "It sounds like…" The buzzing grew louder, and suddenly, Ahsoka remembered a time when she'd be out with her brothers at the end of the day. They'd hear people going back to their homes—all dragging feet and half-sung songs and above it all, the hum of—

"Bugs," Ahsoka whispered.

"But how could bugs be _that_ —" Barriss was interrupted by a shrill scream.

They both froze.

That scream wasn't far off.

"I think we should go," Ahsoka said.

Barriss didn't say anything. She just nodded.

And then the two were scrambling down from the tree as fast as they could. The bark scraped and scratched at Ahsoka's hands, but she would worry about that later. She stood back for Barriss to make the last jump down to the ground, and they had only just started to take a few running steps away from the tree when the buzzing grew louder—and then, Ahsoka heard the flutter of heavy _wings_ —

 _Wings?_ But how big did the bugs have to be for Ahsoka to hear the _wings_ —

Ahsoka turned around.

And then she turned back around, grabbing Barriss' hand. "Run faster," she said.

"What?"

"Run _faster_ ," Ahsoka said through gritted teeth.

Barriss turned briefly, and with a quiet gasp, she turned back around. "Those things are—"

"I know," Ahsoka replied. She didn't want to look back again. One look had been enough for Ahsoka to know that the bugs flying after them weren't the small bees or wasps that had bothered her back home. This was the arena, and of course, no bug could be normal. _Far_ from it, because Ahsoka had taken one look at the man-sized bug with its glistening, translucent wings and its threateningly black, shining stinger, and worse than that—where there should be a bug's legs, Ahsoka saw distinctly human-looking arms. Four arms or maybe six, Ahsoka hadn't been able to count, but either way, those were _human arms_.

Ahsoka didn't want to think of what would happen if the bug got close enough to grab them.

Somewhere, a cannon boomed.

"The gamemakers got bored," Barriss said in between breaths. "That's why they had to release those things."

Ahsoka didn't reply. She stuck her hand in her pocket, grasped the knife waiting there. She could hear the buzzing and the wings coming much closer now, and she wondered if it was worth it to throw the knife—if that could catch the bug off-balance or—

But then Ahsoka heard something else: the whistle of something flying through the air, something fast and familiar, and Ahsoka yanked Barriss down to the ground in time for a dart to lodge itself in the tree next to them.

 _Now, out of all times_ —

Ahsoka didn't have enough time to even complete that thought, because that second of covering Barriss and herself had cost them a valuable second, and Ahsoka knew that that had been her mistake. The buzzing and beating of wings were directly above them now, and Ahsoka actually _smelled_ something coming from the bug: something sour and rotten and so _dead_ that Ahsoka tasted bile in her mouth as she rolled over on her back and—

She drove the knife into the bug's stinger before it could catch her on the throat. The bug shrieked: a startingly _human_ sound that did little to help the pitching and roiling in Ahsoka's stomach. She rolled away as the bug's wings faltered, and then the bug was falling forward.

Ahsoka let go out of Barriss' hand, and they both rolled in opposite directions away from the bug as it hit the ground. As Ahsoka rolled up to her knee, though, she found not darts but more bugs flying out from the trees.

 _So many more_.

Ahsoka's stomach lurched again.

"Barriss," she started, and she turned around to see Barriss holding up Ahsoka's knife.

For a heart-stopping second, Ahsoka wondered if this was where Barriss would—

But Barriss was holding up the end of the stinger too. "I cut it off," she said grimly. She passed Ahsoka back her knife. Her eyes flicked to beyond, where the bugs were nearing. "We can't hold them off—there's too many."

"I know," Ahsoka said. "So we have to—"

"No," Barriss said urgently. "There's too many of them—and there's two of us. There'll be more attracted to us sooner or later, but if we split up now—"

Ahsoka's heart sank. She hadn't expected it to sink this fast. "But—"

" _Go_ ," Barriss said. She waved the stinger in the air with a wry smile. "I'll be fine."

Ahsoka paused. She could hear the wings still coming closer, but still, she took another look at Barriss. After a moment, she said, "I really, _really_ hope I don't see you again."

Barriss smiled. "Likewise," she said.

And then she turned and ran.

Ahsoka turned and ran too, and when she looked back, she found that the bugs had, in fact, actually split into two different directions. There were fewer bugs following Ahsoka now, but—still, more than she would have liked. Ahsoka started to turn back around, only this time to hear another dart flying her way.

So apparently, District 10 had chosen to chase Ahsoka instead.

 _Wonderful_.

Ahsoka ducked behind a tree. She heard the wood protest at the dart, heard the bugs' buzzing grow nearer. There were too many noises—too many things to keep track of, and Ahsoka wondered if this was maybe payback for herself wondering why the forest was so quiet. She looked behind the tree and spotted the bugs flying closer. Their arms— _arms_ —were extended, their glittering black eyes focused—

Ahsoka swallowed. Well. A tribute and three human-sized bugs. She shouldn't have been surprised, but—she could hear rapid footsteps now. _So District 10 was coming for a fight? Now? Fine_.

Ahsoka curled her hand around her knives and stepped out from behind the tree.

Only to nearly barrel them into a decidedly non-District 10 tribute.

"What are you _doing_?" District 3 gasped. "Don't just stand there, come _on!_ "

Ahsoka knew that this would probably be the perfect time to get rid of one tribute. Who knew—maybe this tribute would be the one to stab her in the back or turn away, but all of that rationale drained out of Ahsoka's head. And all she felt instead was _relief_ —cool, welcoming relief that at least she wouldn't be as alone as she had felt just a few seconds ago.

 _Bad idea_ , Ahsoka told herself, but still, she ran with District 3.

\--

Obi-Wan ran alone.

That didn't seem to matter to the bugs now. Where there had once only been one bug on Obi-Wan's tail now had multiplied into three, and now he wove in between the trees, not daring to look back. If he looked back, he would slow down, and Obi-Wan didn't want to know what would happen once the bugs reached him. If it was anything like what happened to District 5, though, Obi-Wan imagined that his last moments would be unpleasant, to say the least.

He ran through the trees. Deeper and deeper into the forest he went, and with each passing step, the whole place seemed to grow darker and darker, too. He hoped he wouldn't run into anything—that would be embarrassing, too, perhaps more embarrassing and much more unimpressive than dying by the stingers of the bugs that followed him now.

Obi-Wan heard something thump behind him, and then the guttural shriek of a bug meeting its end.

That was when Obi-Wan turned around.

"I don't suppose you're only here to take care of the bugs, are you?" Obi-Wan asked Maul.

"I'm afraid not."

"How disappointing," Obi-Wan said, and he watched a streak of black jumped down from one of the other tree branches. A gruesome cut of Savage's swords, and the second bug was on the ground, twitching under the tribute's boots.

And Obi-Wan supposed he would have been a little grateful for at least two of the bugs to be taken care of—but he couldn't say the same about the two tributes now leering at him. _Really_ , Obi-Wan thought wearily, he didn't know what he had done to possibly offend the tributes to the point that they seemed to follow him. Except perhaps the incident in the training room. And perhaps the fact that these were the games.

 _That'll do it_ , Obi-Wan thought as he drew his sword. Somewhere, he was aware of the last bug still fluttering around, but it, too, seemed to be hesitating, waiting. Obi-Wan wasn't surprised. That was the thing about anything in the arena: they weren't like any of the normal animals in the districts. There was always _something_ , even beyond the bug's vast size and its strange arms.

When Savage and Maul both lunged, Obi-Wan used the tree behind him to kick himself over their heads. He landed on the back of the bug Savage had just killed, and for a disorienting second, Obi-Wan almost slipped off the bug's surprisingly _greasy_ back—and the _smell_ —

Obi-Wan lifted his sword as Maul and Savage both turned around, their yellow eyes furious.

Obi-Wan only extended his arms. _Come now_ , he thought. They didn't think he would simply _stand_ there, did they?

Apparently they did, because both Maul and Savage started towards him again.

Obi-Wan lifted his sword to catch Maul first. He twisted his wrist, knocked back the spear as hard as he could. Ducked out of the way of Savage's swords. Obi-Wan leapt back against another tree, grew pressingly more aware of the sheer number of blades and stingers around him. If he could somehow get one of his opponents to _fall_ on one of the upturned stingers, that could take care of his problem—

But then again, he didn't know if one stinger was enough. District 5 seemed to have been stung multiple times. No, he had a feeling he might have to do more than that—

Obi-Wan ducked his head as Savage's sword came flying his way. He looked up to find Savage's sword stuck in the tree trunk behind him, and Obi-Wan couldn't help himself: he smiled.

"Stuck?" he asked, and Savage growled, bringing his other sword down. Obi-Wan rolled over to the side. Unfortunately, Savage seemed to have learned his lesson, because his other sword didn't get stuck in the bark. Obi-Wan stood up as Maul came for him again. He pressed his back against the tree trunk as Maul dove forward. The spear tip just came to Obi-Wan's throat before he lifted up his sword again, shoved back. With his other hand, Obi-Wan grabbed at the hilt of the sword stuck in the tree. He tugged, _tugged_ , and only just barely got it free in time to block Savage's blow.

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth as both Savage and Maul pressed down on him. He could smell and feel the heat of their breaths as they closed in, see the shots of red in their eyes from this close—

Obi-Wan struck his foot out to Savage's kneecap. Savage buckled with a howl, staggering back. In a flash, Obi-Wan pushed himself away from the tree and, as Savage looked back up, Obi-Wan brought his sword down first.

One thing he discovered: cutting someone's arm with a sword was a much more difficult task than he had expected.

Savage and Maul's shouts intertwined together, and in another flash, Obi-Wan was shoved back against the tree. He heard wings flapping above him, and Obi-Wan looked up to see that the bug had gotten bored. It was drawing closer now, and Obi-Wan and Maul were still struggling here—

Obi-Wan held his breath. He looked at Maul. He was unbalanced now—more unbalanced, Obi-Wan realized with a start. Maul looked genuinely _angry_ that Savage was hurt—something that Obi-Wan hadn't expected.

He looked up again. The bug was hovering closer now.

And Maul didn't seem to notice.

Obi-Wan slid his sword out from under Maul's spear and ducked forward.

He heard two things: first, Maul's spear being lodged in the bark, and second, the stinger coming down.

Maul shouted: a loud, guttural shout that almost made Obi-Wan wince.

Almost.

But then the spear was coming back out from the tree, and Obi-Wan watched Maul bring the spear up to the bug's stinger.

And then Maul was staggering backwards, his hand latched around his neck, his other hand still gripping the spear. Maul and Obi-Wan caught each other's eyes for a moment, and then Maul was turning around, his hand reaching for Savage.

"Up," Maul hissed, and Obi-Wan watched as the two staggered up and back.

And then they were both stumbling back into the trees, and Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan could follow them. They were both weak, and he had the upper hand, he knew, but—

He couldn't quite move. Not right now. He was too tired, and the night was dark, and—

Obi-Wan dropped his head down.

 _Oh_.

Obi-Wan slowly withdrew his hand from the stinger of the fallen bug. The bug that Savage had cut down, he realized.

Well, that explained why he couldn't _move_ , and why the world seemed to be growing darker, and why—

Obi-Wan let out a breath, pushing himself back against the tree trunk. He couldn't quite—his head swam. _Focus_. It was only one sting—only _one sting_ , so it couldn't possibly be _that_ bad—

Or maybe it was, because Obi-Wan could have sworn he heard running feet now, and he wondered if perhaps Maul and Savage had come back, but no—

Obi-Wan lifted his head to see two blurry figures come through the trees. He heard buzzing again—buzzing and shouting, and then he made out two sets of blue eyes before sinking under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	9. Nightmares (Part One)

Technically, Anakin knew that it would be better off to leave Obi-Wan to die.

He could die. Anakin wasn't sure if one sting would be bad enough to _kill_ him, but Anakin didn't particularly _want_ him to die, mostly because, well, that would make his life easier. That would make winning the games easier, period, but at the same time—

"Come _on_ ," Anakin growled, kneeling in front of Obi-Wan. "You're telling me that it's a stupid _bug_ that takes you out?" He kicked the bug away, avoiding the stinger. The stinger, Anakin found, was _huge_ —so much bigger than it had been when he had first seen it, back when he was actually running away from the bugs. "Take his other side."

The girl—District 11—didn't argue. _Good kid_. That didn't mean Anakin was entirely sure she wouldn't turn around and stab him in the back. He noticed the girl's knives glinting in the faint moonlight, and his first experience with that boy from District 12 already had kept Anakin on his toes...but all the same, the girl hadn't so much as blinked an eye when Anakin first dragged her away from the bugs, and she didn't seem like she was going to kill him now.

" _Hurry_ ," the girl said now, darting a nervous glance at the trees behind them. "I think I hear…"

Anakin paused.

He swore.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear that faint buzzing, along with that faint batting and humming of wings. And elsewhere, Anakin heard something else: crashing feet, just barely stifled cries as other tributes were probably combatting both bugs and each other. Anakin didn't want to think about what would happen if he got caught in a knife fight _and_ the bugs.

Anakin shot another look down at Obi-Wan. The tribute's face had already gone pale, his head just barely lolling back against Anakin's shoulder. Anakin half-expected Obi-Wan to stir and wake, but no, there was nothing.

 _And you said we should split up_ , Anakin couldn't help but think.

 _He could die_ , another voice whispered in Anakin's head. _He could die. One less tribute to worry about_.

But Obi-Wan had yanked Anakin back from the lava at the Cornucopia. But Obi-Wan had given Anakin a sword, even if he lost it.

"Come on," Anakin said again. "We have to get out of here."

"No," the girl said suddenly. "We have to climb."

Anakin looked down at Obi-Wan, and then he looked back at the girl. "I don't think—"

"We _have_ to," she insisted. "Listen—the bugs are _big_. They're too heavy to lift themselves that much higher. So we just have to get ourselves high enough."

The buzzing was growing louder.

"How are we supposed to—"

"Hold on." The girl dropped down to her knee, tugged something out of her jacket.

 _The rope_. The rope that the kid had gone and risked her life for back at the Cornucopia. She looked up at Anakin. "You'll have to start climbing first. Get to a high enough branch, and pull him up." She started wrapping the rope around Obi-Wan's waist. "Just _hurry_."

Anakin didn't need to be told twice. He waited for the girl to finish tying. Her hands were shaking a little, Anakin noticed, but otherwise surprisingly steady. When she was done, she passed the end of the rope to Anakin. Her hand was cold, and her narrow shoulders were determinedly set—too set and rigid for someone as young as herself.

"Don't just stand there," Anakin said, turning around to the tree. "I'll race you to the top." He could hear the buzzing grow louder, closer. The wings—

But he heard the girl let out a short, shaky laugh. "Don't bet on it," she said, and he saw her move to the other side of the trunk.

With those words exchanged, Anakin tied the rest of the rope around his own waist. He took a step back, and huffing out a breath, he jumped up to the tree.

He caught a branch and tugged himself up. His boots found the edge of the trunk, and Anakin almost slipped off right away—stupid boots were too loose—but then he re-adjusted his grip, managed to pull himself up before he could fall. Anakin reached up for another branch, brought himself a foot higher before he start to feel the tug of the rope around his waist. He knew he still had a bit of rope left before he would need to actually pull Obi-Wan up with him, but for now…

Anakin heard District 11 moving around the other end of the tree. She was already somewhere above him, but Anakin didn't mind. If the kid was above him, then that was good. She could be a lookout.

Anakin heard more buzzing, and another shout from somewhere on the other end of the forest. Faint, but a shout nonetheless. Anakin wondered how many tributes had died tonight.

He climbed up another branch, ignoring the scrape and pull against his hands as he made his way up the tree. He felt another tug around his waist, but Anakin didn't dare look down as he climbed another few feet. District 11 was _far_ above him now, at least three or four branches above. He could hear her light steps balancing along the edge of a branch.

"Hurry," she said again.

"Trying," Anakin muttered. He stepped off to a branch, looked down to the ground. The rope had pulled for long enough. Now Anakin would just have to pull Obi-Wan up—

But then there was a sudden crashing sound through the trees, and Anakin turned to see the first glimmer of translucent wings.

His heart sank.

He had to pull _now_.

Anakin yanked at the rope. He took a half-step back, grateful that the branch he was standing on was thicker than the others, but all the same...Anakin felt a breeze suddenly pass by him, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck. And with it, a smell. Something dead and rotting.

Anakin almost gagged, but he kept pulling at the rope. Obi-Wan wasn't as heavy as Anakin thought he'd be, but he was still pulling a dead weight up a tree, and Anakin had to lean back again to—

District 11 was suddenly at his side, grabbing onto Anakin's elbow.

"Don't fall," she said.

A bead of sweat rolled down Anakin's cheek. "Wasn't going to," he managed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more wings—the flash of a stinger—District 11 was right in the fact that the bugs didn't seem to want to come any higher than they already were, but all the same, Obi-Wan was still only slowly inching his way up.

Anakin huffed out another breath as he pulled. His shoulders and his arms burned, but he kept pulling, even as that rotting smell came overwhelmingly closer.

District 11 let go of Anakin's arm and with a flick of her wrist, a knife flew. Anakin heard the thunk and screech of a bug hitting a tree trunk. Anakin didn't dare look though, not as he concentrated on pulling Obi-Wan up. He was coming closer now…

More angry buzzing.

And then another _thunk_ , another screech.

Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulders, tugged him up to the branch. They both fell back against the trunk, and Anakin had to wrap an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders to keep themselves from both toppling off the tree.

District 11 hovered at the end of the branch. She lowered herself on a knee, looked intently down at the other trees. Anakin could see the still shining stinger and the wings, though they had drooped since the kid's knives had pinned the bugs to the tree trunks.

"Don't worry about it now," Anakin said. "Get them later."

"No," the girl replied. She stood up, her back still turned to Anakin. "If there's something or someone else…" She didn't bother finishing, and before Anakin could tell her to stop, she leapt from the branch.

Anakin swore under his breath. He undid the rope around his waist, made sure that Obi-Wan wasn't going to fall, and then he made his way to the edge of the branch. He saw District 11's small form already nimbly weaving between the lower branches. She scrambled up one of the tree trunks, reached over to pull out her knife from the bug.

Anakin saw the bug's arm—its _human arm_ , Anakin realized with a twist in his stomach—twitch, but when it fell to the ground, it didn't get back up. He still stood at the edge of the branch, though, as District 11 leapt to the other tree. She yanked out her other knife there too, and then she was turning back around to Anakin with a near-cocky grin. _See? I told you_.

Anakin rolled his eyes and gestured. _Come here_.

District 11 grinned. She slipped the knives at her sides and started to climb back.

That was when Anakin noticed that the second bug was starting to move again. It wasn't falling like the other bug had—but now its wings were beating lazily, slowly. Its arms twitched.

And then it lifted its head, and Anakin made out its black, beady eyes—watched as they focused right on District 11, who was now making her way back to Anakin.

Anakin's blood ran cold. " _Kid_ ," he said, reaching out. "Hurry up."

"I know, I know," the girl said, jumping up a branch. "Stop—"

" _No_ ," Anakin said urgently, leaning from the branch. If he leaned a little more, he could probably bring the girl up to their branch. He watched the bug slowly drift away from the trunk. " _Hurry_. It's not—" He meant to tell her not to look, but it was too late. District 11 turned around, and then her step faltered.

And then she was slipping—

Anakin didn't think. He lunged forward, his shoulder protesting as the girl's sudden weight nearly dragged him down. But Anakin kept ahold of himself on the branch, let out a small gasp as he started to drag District 11 back up. The bug was wide awake now, and Anakin saw its still translucent wings flash just as he—

Anakin yanked both the girl and himself backwards, and if the tree branch was just a little thinner, they would have both rolled off for sure, but the girl held fast, and they both rolled onto the branch just as the bug crashed into the trunk below them.

The branch trembled, and Anakin heard the girl let out a sharp little cry as they all shook. Anakin gripped the underside of the branch, grabbed the girl's arm. There was another thump against the tree trunk, and the branch shook again.

Anakin swallowed.

It was going to be a long night.

—

  
Ahsoka didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't think it would be possible to fall asleep when there was a giant bug banging itself against the trunk of the tree, but she fell asleep, and when she woke up, her body ached from being wound so tight for so long.

And for a disorienting second, Ahsoka thought that the bug had gone—but when she looked down, she found the bug still there, its ugly form all the uglier now in the grey morning light.

Up this close, Ahsoka could see more details of the bug that she hadn't seen before. Human arms, yes, but...at first, Ahsoka thought that there were just patches of burned skin, but now up this close, Ahsoka could see that there were actually—

The rotting smell suddenly made sense.

Ahsoka's stomach twisted, and she thought she would lose whatever was left in her stomach right there if District 3 hadn't stirred awake beside her.

"What—"

"Its _arms_ ," Ahsoka whispered. "I think—"

District 3 blinked a few times, and then he, too, looked down at the bug.

They were quiet for a long time.

Ahsoka looked at the stitches on the arms. Not burns, as she had thought, but different patches of skin. A whole map of the deepest browns to the lightest of whites, stitched together. Ahsoka saw one patch of freckled skin. Another still had a scar from some old wound—

The bug thudded its head against the trunk again, and this time, Ahsoka almost toppled off—almost. She grabbed ahold of the branch before she could. Her hand trembled as she did so, though, trembled so hard. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes then. Close her eyes and go home. _This is enough_.

But Ahsoka's other hand fumbled for the knife strapped to her side. It was bright out. She could put the bug out of its misery now at least.

District 3 didn't move as Ahsoka steadied her aim. She waited one moment, two.

When the bug hit its head again, Ahsoka's knife found its mark.

The bug stopped moving. Its arms flailed for a moment, and then they dropped along with the rest of the bug.

For a moment, neither Ahsoka nor District 3 said anything.

"Good shot," District 3 said at last.

"Thanks." Ahsoka didn't feel like saying much more. She rose slowly to her feet, her whole body still aching and groaning as she undid the kinks in her muscles. She turned slowly in place, taking in the pine trees that still towered around them. Below, Ahsoka could see the dead bugs that she had taken care of the night before—and the dead bug that District 1 must have stung himself on.

District 1…

Ahsoka looked to the trunk now, where the tribute was still propped up.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And right next to Ahsoka, Anakin Skywalker.

"He doesn't look good," Ahsoka said at last, nodding to Obi-Wan. His face had gone all white, covered by the faintest sheen of sweat. Ahsoka could make out the bruised colored shadows under his eyes, an uglier shade of pink-purple-red rising up in his cheeks and, when Ahsoka looked, his hand. That must have been where the idiot had stung himself.

Anakin looked too. He muttered something Ahsoka couldn't make out. But then he was walking over to Obi-Wan, one hand pressing flush against the tribute's face. "He's burning up."

"Is the stinger still…"

Anakin looked down at Obi-Wan's hand. "No."

"Okay." Ahsoka let out a breath. She looked down at the bug. It was still pinned against the trunk.

She lowered herself down the branch.

"What are you—"

"Just getting my knife," Ahsoka replied. "It's dead this time."

She walked to the bug. She tried not to look at the arms, but it was hard _not_ to, not when they were right _there_ , and the smell was so _strong_ —Ahsoka's eyes watered. She rubbed an arm over her eyes, plucked out the knife. She watched the bug slide down the trunk, crash into the other dead bug right below.

Ahsoka climbed back up to the branch, perched herself next to Anakin and looked at Obi-Wan.

His chest was rising and falling in an uneven rhythm, his breaths short and shallow. Ahsoka looked down at Obi-Wan's hand too, even though she had already seen that sickening purple-pink shade. She set her hand over his, just briefly—just enough to feel the heat radiating there, too.

"We just have to cool it down," Ahsoka said. "With…water."

"I don't have any," Anakin replied. "Do you?"

Ahsoka became aware of how thirsty she was. "No," she replied.

Anakin let out a frustrated sigh. "That's what I thought."

Ahsoka tried to think. But realizing that she didn't have water—and realizing that Anakin didn't have water either made thinking difficult. She brushed her hands against her pants and looked up at the branches above. If she could maybe get a good look at where they were—and maybe, if they were close to the snow, that could probably work—

"You're from District 11, right?"

Ahsoka looked down at Anakin. "Yeah," she replied. "You're from District 3."

"That's right."

They both sat there.

"I'm Ahsoka," Ahsoka said at last.

"Anakin."

They were quiet for a moment longer before Ahsoka stuck out her hand.

Anakin looked down, then looked at Ahsoka.

Ahsoka thought she saw him smile when he took it. He gave her hand a quick shake, and then Ahsoka almost smiled, too.

But there were other things to do.

"If none of us have water," she said, pulling herself up to the branch above them, "the only water source in this place might be the snow. Did you see it?"

"Yeah," Anakin replied. "But that could be too far."

"It might be the only chance any of us have," Ahsoka said. She climbed up another branch. Her head was already starting to hurt from lack of water, and she didn't want to think about what would happen to her if she didn't have any water for another day. How that might influence her own climbing and her own fighting now. And if she came across those bugs again—she didn't think she would. The gamemakers seemed to only ever pull one trick at a time, but there was also that boy from District 10 to worry about, and then the tributes from District 2 and 4...those were the tributes Ahsoka was most worried about, and she didn't think her own dehydrated self would be able to fend them off.

Obi-Wan was completely out of the question—that was, if he was at all prone to alliances in the first place. And Anakin didn't seem to have a weapon on him, either.

Ahsoka reached the branch above her. Higher and higher she went, until she could make out a decent portion of the grey sky, and—

Ahsoka reached the top of the tree with a gasp of fresh air. She hadn't realized how suffocating the forest itself was—which was odd, because she didn't think a forest should be suffocating in the first place, but now, Ahsoka peered over the forest and tried to even out her breaths.

She turned. There, in the distance, she saw the volcano that held the Cornucopia. A plume of thick smoke was rising steadily from its center, and from this distance, Ahsoka could make out the great angry red occasionally spitting out. She turned to the other side. She found more green forest, but yes, much closer now, she could make out the snow.

Ahsoka climbed down the tree, careful not to trip and fall again.

"It's not as far as we thought," Ahsoka said, settling to the branch. "We could probably make it in a few hours if we don't run into trouble."

"Right," Anakin said. "So we don't run into trouble."

—

  
Obi-Wan remembered the first time he ran into trouble.

The first time…

He had been in class with the other children. A teacher had been saying something about the history of the games. Something about riots and rebellion and ungrateful people in a district now buried underground. Someone had tossed a balled up piece of paper at Obi-Wan's head. He had unfurled the paper to find the message: _are you ready for your turn yet?_

Obi-Wan had stuffed the message in his pocket, and he had thrown it out on his walk back home. He hadn't brought it up to his father. But the message came the next day, and the day after that, and then Obi-Wan caught the person who had been throwing the messages in the first place.

He didn't remember throwing the first punch, exactly. He didn't think he threw the first punch. But he had gone home with a black eye, and his father had taken one look at him and told him to sit down.

The pain had been bad—Obi-Wan had just been a child then. A stupid, naive eleven year old who had a shorter temper and a lower pain tolerance, but still. Obi-Wan remembered how he had squirmed under his father's touch, and how he had winced for the days to come whenever he touched the space near his eye.

That pain was nothing like what Obi-Wan felt now: the constant burning in his core, his face, and worst of all, his _hand_ —

And that had been another pain that Obi-Wan thought of from his own childhood—the first time he had accidentally cut himself toying with a knife in the backyard. Back when he had just started using weapons on his own, because at least he had come to the realization that the games were, in fact, real. In the end, he had cut himself, and he had tried to wrap his own hand up in bandages. It healed on its own, but Obi-Wan had spent a good portion of the day frantically trying to clean up the blood dripping on the sink.

Obi-Wan heard voices above him now. Worried voices—a girl's, one that Obi-Wan only vaguely recognized, though he couldn't quite put a finger on it—

And then another voice: lower, more familiar. Obi-Wan felt some instant exasperation at that voice, although he couldn't quite figure out the reason behind that, either.

He was just tired. If he was less tired, perhaps Obi-Wan could actually figure out who these people were, but he was tired, and his whole body ached, and even breathing felt like an effort.

Obi-Wan dragged open his eyes.

He became aware of two things:

One, that his hand was a strange red-purple color, and two, that he was being carried on someone's back.

"This is nothing," the person carrying him was saying. "I've carried heavier."

"If you say so…" Obi-Wan focused on this new speaker: a young girl with deep brown skin and bright, blue eyes that widened when registering him. "Anakin—he's awake."

"He is?" Anakin shifted his head back, and Obi-Wan found another set of familiar blue eyes looking right back up at him. "He _is_."

Obi-Wan tried to respond. _Yes, Anakin, very good. Very good observation_.

But all he got out was a noise that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a groan.

"Good to see you, too," Anakin said, turning back around. "Just hang in there…"

Obi-Wan wanted to remark that he really had no other option _than_ to hang on, didn't he—but those words, too, seemed lost on him. He rested his feverish—because he was feverish, he realized. Burning up from the inside-out.—forehead on Anakin's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Somewhere at Obi-Wan's side, the girl was speaking again, her voice softer but still there: "I think we really _will_ make it soon, and then we can bring that swelling down…"

 _Fools_ , Obi-Wan only thought, sinking against Anakin's back. _Absolute fools, all of them._

—

  
Anakin's shoulders were actually killing him.

But he wasn't about to admit that to Ahsoka—not when they were getting so much closer to the snow. He adjusted his grip on Obi-Wan. He had long since fallen asleep, it seemed, even despite that brief moment of consciousness. Anakin thought he heard Obi-Wan mumble something— _fools_ —but when Anakin turned back around, Obi-Wan's eyes were closed.

"Not much farther," Ahsoka was saying now. She had taken to climbing the trees, and every so often, she reappeared on a branch at Anakin's side with the occasional update of things. They were nearing the snow, was the essence of each update. Anakin wanted to tell Ahsoka after a while that _yes_ , he knew, but it gave the kid something to do, and Anakin wasn't about to take that away from her.

"So," Anakin said after a while, "how old are you, anyways?"

"Fourteen," Ahsoka replied. "How old are _you_?"

"Eighteen," Anakin said.

"I thought so."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not supposed to mean anything," Ahsoka replied. "It just means that I thought you were eighteen. Did you think I was fourteen?"

Anakin looked closely at Ahsoka. She was slight, small, like almost every other child Anakin had seen in his own district. There was maybe just the slightest more muscle in Ahsoka's arms—probably from time out in the fields. _District 11_. But besides that…

"Maybe younger," Anakin replied.

"Hm," was Ahsoka's only comment. If that could count as a comment.

They walked in silence for a while. Anakin adjusted his grip on Obi-Wan again.

And that must have been a signal enough, because Ahsoka said, "We should take a break."

"No," Anakin said automatically. "You said it yourself—we're almost there."

"We're taking a break," Ahsoka said firmly. She stopped in her tracks, sat down against a tree. "Just for a few minutes." She took out her knife, dug it into the side of the tree. Anakin watched as she sawed off a strip of the bark, handed a piece over to Anakin. He took it gratefully, but he didn't bother with it until he had seated Obi-Wan and himself down.

Anakin paused, rested a hand against the side of Obi-Wan's face. Still too hot.

Anakin tilted his head back against the tree trunk and looked up at the grey patch of sky. Wondered if maybe there were any sponsors watching the games now—if maybe Padmé or Obi-Wan or Ahsoka's mentors, really, could get them some water. Or some medicine to help with Obi-Wan's hand. Something.

 _A ticket out of these games_ , Anakin thought bitterly. That would be what Anakin wanted most.

He looked down at Obi-Wan. His breathing had slowed considerably now.

Anakin turned back around. _Somehow_ ….Anakin thought about what would happen if they actually got to the snow. The cold water might not be enough with the sting—there had to be something more to it, because Obi-Wan's hand looked _bad_.

"Let's go," Anakin said, finishing the rest of the bark. He stood up, repositioned Obi-Wan around his shoulders. "The sooner we get to the snow, the better."

Ahsoka nodded slowly. She pushed herself up to her feet. Brave kid—Anakin could see that she was starting to grow just as tired as himself, but she, too, pressed on. Anakin watched her start to climb another tree, and he almost suggested that she come back down, but she was already up the third and fourth branches by the time he remembered he had to actually open his mouth to tell her to stop.

Anakin let out a short breath, dropped his head. His feet blurred briefly before him. It wasn't that Obi-Wan was _too_ heavy—he hadn't been lying to Ahsoka when he said he had carried heavier before, but...he was thirsty, and there were other things that were weighing Obi-Wan down. Like the swords. Anakin had been glad to see the other sword with Obi-Wan, considering he had lost his own to a child, but—

 _There was so much_ —

Anakin forced his eyes open. Focus. He had to stay focused, otherwise he could—

Anakin heard feet rushing his way, and he dove to the side in time to see a familiar head of dark hair blur past him. That, and the glint of a sword—

 _Speaking of the child_ —

District 12 was back.

—

  
Ahsoka's head was spinning by the time she came up for air from the trees. A colder wind blew past her this time, and Ahsoka shivered with it. She wound her jacket tighter around herself, grateful for the insulation, but still...as another wind whipped past, Ahsoka had the feeling that she'd want another layer by the time they reached the snow.

Ahsoka looked back to the trees behind her. There had eerily been little movement since Anakin and she took care of the bug this morning, but given the amount of chaos last night, she didn't think there would be any nasty surprises from the gamemakers.

Ahsoka shivered again, this time having nothing to do with the cold. The arms…

She had seen some form of mutation played in the games before. Dogs with human eyes, birds with human voices. But _all that skin_ …

Ahsoka was grateful for the wind this time around, because it at least cleared the nausea already starting to creep back up on her. She took another deep breath and, looking around the arena one last time, she started her descent.

Down and down she went, and for a moment, all Ahsoka could see were the other dark branches below her. She suddenly imagined she was back home, and she was just climbing down from a tree to meet her brothers. They'd race each other back in the house, and their dad would wipe the dust and dirt off their faces with a wet towel. Then they'd eat dinner and spend the last hour of the day swapping stories and happenings of the day before their dad would tell them to go to bed. ("We'll go to _bed_ ," Sinker would say, "but that doesn't mean we'll go to _sleep_.")

Ahsoka climbed down the rest of the tree. She wasn't home. Home didn't have pine trees.

And home didn't sound like swords clashing.

Ignoring the jump in her chest, Ahsoka hurried down the rest of the tree. _Stupid_ , she thought. She had been up at the top of the tree for too long. She hadn't noticed anyone creeping up on them, and—

Ahsoka jumped down from the lower branches to find Anakin shoving back a boy with his sword. Obi-Wan was propped against the base of the tree, eyes still closed—he looked worse, Ahsoka realized. _Much worse_. But he was at least out of the way, and Ahsoka looked up now to make out who exactly was attacking them.

Small, green eyes, dark hair. Probably the youngest out of all the tributes. District 12.

The boy was holding a sword that was too heavy for himself, Ahsoka could tell. And yet, that didn't seem to hold him back from making a very near attempt for Anakin's torso. Anakin sidestepped, kicked the boy square in the back. With his size and strength, Ahsoka knew that Anakin could take over easily—and yet, he still drew back.

Ahsoka palmed the knives at her side. She wondered if—

But Ahsoka's hands stayed. Killing a bug was different than killing a _person_ , and a person that much younger than herself.

But they couldn't just stay here, and someone had to give in eventually. Or maybe, Ahsoka thought, maybe they could get him to stop for just a moment, and _then_ —

 _Or maybe not_ , Ahsoka thought, rolling over to the side as the sword came swinging _her_ way. Ahsoka came up on her knee, grabbed the knives at her sides. She stuck out her leg in an attempt to trip the boy, but he jumped over, and in a flash, his sword was coming down.

Ahsoka dove back just barely. She still felt the blade come dangerously close to her forehead—she heard the blade's whistle as the boy lifted the sword again.

Ahsoka scrambled up to her feet, leapt to the side as the sword came crashing down again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin coming close, sword gripped tightly in his hand. She saw his white knuckles and his stony eyes as he drew near.

But Ahsoka didn't dare actually look at him as she backed up against a tree. She slipped the knives into her hands, readied herself for the oncoming blow.

"You really don't want to do this," Ahsoka said.

The boy looked at Ahsoka. "I really do," he said hoarsely.

That was the first time Ahsoka had heard him speak since seeing him at the arena, Ahsoka realized.

Ahsoka's grip on her knives faltered.

The sword came rushing forward—

And then, at the last second, the boy whirled around. Ahsoka cried out for Anakin to look out, but—

Blood sprayed, and Ahsoka was dully aware of some of it hitting her pants.

A strangled sound.

Ahsoka watched as Anakin steadily drew the sword back out, the expression on his face glassy as the boy dropped to his knees.

More strangled sounds, a wet cough.

Ahsoka slipped her knives back to her sides. She took two steps forward, caught the boy's back as he lurched to the ground. Something warm and wet dribbled over her hands. She brought him down slowly, gently.

After the last breath was drawn, Ahsoka looked back up at Anakin. He still stood, the end of his sword a deep crimson color.

"Anakin?"

Anakin blinked.

"We should go," he said.

"Shouldn't we…"

"Shouldn't we what?" Anakin asked roughly. "They'll pick up his body anyways."

Ahsoka looked down at the boy. "I know," she said. She picked up the sword—his sword, the one that Ahsoka thought might kill her. She twisted it around her wrist once, twice, looked at Anakin.

"Better you than someone else getting that," Anakin only said.

Ahsoka nodded.

She looked back down at the boy. His eyes were still open, and his mouth was red.

—

  
Obi-Wan saw red.

Red hands, desperately trying to rub themselves clean against a jacket.

"I don't think we should leave him here."

"We can't carry another body around."

"No, I _know_ , but—"

Obi-Wan lifted his gaze. The girl was looking away from him, her eyes set on something else. Obi-Wan tried to look. He couldn't, because someone was in the way. Anakin. But Obi-Wan saw another blood-stained hand. A blood-stained sword.

Someone had died, then.

A cannon went off.

"They'll be here any minute now," Anakin said.

"We still have time."

A frustrated sound.

And then, "We'll be quick. Okay? _Quick._ "

"Absolutely," came the girl's voice.

Anakin moved away, and Obi-Wan found himself staring into a set of unseeing eyes.

_Ah._

Two pairs of hands grabbed the boy's arms, tugged him away to the opposite tree. The boy's face disappeared from view again as Anakin and the girl steadied the body against the trunk.

"Okay," Anakin said. "We did it. We just have to—" The rest of the words were cut off by a shaky, shuddery breath.

The girl rested a hand on Anakin's shoulder.

Obi-Wan turned his eyes up the grey patch of sky. He felt something drop on his forehead.

Another.

"Great," Anakin said hollowly. "Rain. That's fitting."

 _Rain_.

More droplets hit around Obi-Wan.

"Wait," the girl said. "Anakin, if it's _raining_ — _water_ —"

More droplets. They made a soft sound each time they landed. A branch cracked. Obi-Wan didn't think rain could hit the ground that hard.

Another crack—this one closer.

Obi-Wan's hand fumbled. Where was—Anakin had at least the sense to keep the sword right next to Obi-Wan. He wasn't sure if that was something he'd have to worry about later, but at the moment, he was glad as his foggy brain would allow him. He smelled something sour and dank.

"'Course," Anakin was saying. "Where's the—"

He turned around, and Obi-Wan saw Anakin's eyes widen in shock as—

Obi-Wan plunged the sword as far behind himself as he could.

Obi-Wan heard a dull cry, felt spit and blood settle on his wrist as he drew the sword back. A moment later, the thunk of Savage Oppress' body sounded next to him.

This time, the girl spun around too. Both Anakin and she looked down at the body, then back at Obi-Wan.

"Pay _attention_ ," Obi-Wan managed.

He saw Anakin's lips move, but that was enough activity for Obi-Wan. He closed his eyes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	10. Nightmares (Part Two)

Anakin startled up as Savage's body hit the ground. He hadn't even heard—but then again, how could he hear—he couldn't really hear much except for the distant pounding in his own head, because his hand was still stained red from where the blood had dripped down on him—

He should have been paying attention. Not paying attention would get him killed, which he realized now as Obi-Wan rasped, " _Pay attention_."

"Obi-Wan—" Anakin started, but then a cannon boomed, and the rain seemed to fall down harder. Rain. _Rain_ meant water—

Anakin's hands fumbled as he took out the empty bottle. He flipped open the cap, passed it to Ahsoka. "Hold on to this," he said. Ahsoka nodded, and with that, Anakin walked over to Obi-Wan. He dropped down the tribute's side, flipped open his pack. He thought he had seen…

There. Another empty bottle.

Anakin unscrewed the lid so that it, too, could catch water.

But in the meanwhile...Anakin looked down at Savage. He was on his belly, blood already slowly soaking his back. Anakin contemplated his body for a moment, and then with his foot, nudged the body aside. He meant only for the body to shift against the ground, but he had kicked a little hard, and now Savage rolled over, his eyes and mouth still open.

Anakin grimaced. He turned away abruptly, lowered himself down next to Obi-Wan instead. He looked down at Obi-Wan's hand, which was still swollen and an angry red-purple color. But other than that, Obi-Wan was pale, his lips bloodless. His hair clung to his forehead, whether from rain or sweat, Anakin wasn't really sure.

He lifted a tentative hand to the side of Obi-Wan's face, even though he already knew that it would be burning. And it was—Anakin felt that same heat radiating there, and Obi-Wan let out a small sigh, leaning just the slightest into Anakin's rain-slicked hand. If they weren't in an arena filled with killer wasp-human things and a handful of other tributes who wanted everyone dead, Anakin would have almost smiled.

Anakin looked back up at the sky, blinking the rain out of his eyes. _What now_ , he thought. _Tell me what to do now_.

"Filled it up," Ahsoka said from behind.

Anakin turned around.

Ahsoka was wiping water from her face as she walked towards him. She screwed the cap back on, nodded to the other water bottle sitting between Obi-Wan and Anakin. "They're full," she explained. She passed Anakin the water bottle and kneeled down to the other. She screwed the cap back on and looked at Savage's body. Her eyes widened a fraction of an inch before she was looking back down at the water bottle in her hands.

"Do you think it'll stop soon?" Ahsoka asked after a little while, looking up at the sky.

"What do you think?" Anakin asked.

They both looked at each other.

And then Ahsoka looked down at Obi-Wan. "How is…"

"Not much better," Anakin said, nodding down to the swollen hand. "I don't…" He didn't bother finishing that. He settled for glaring at Obi-Wan instead. _Idiot_ , he thought. _Why did you have to get yourself stung?_

"We need to get out of the rain," Anakin said at last. He stood up, set the sword carefully so that it wouldn't accidentally pierce Obi-Wan or Anakin as he tugged Obi-Wan up into a semi-upright position. "I don't wanna think about what would happen if this gets worse." He tried to ignore how hot Obi-Wan was against him as he hoisted Obi-Wan over his shoulders again. For a moment, Anakin's knees buckled—but then he was standing back up.

He looked at Ahsoka. "Come on—maybe there's shelter near the mountains."

"There's also snow," Ahsoka pointed out, but Anakin noticed that she still followed him as he started walking. "And it's _raining_. There'll be ice."

"Then there's ice for us and ice for anyone who tries following us," Anakin replied. "Nice and simple." He adjusted Obi-Wan on his shoulders. He heard Obi-Wan mumble something again, and for a moment, Anakin thought that he was going to wake—but Obi-Wan only settled back into sleep. Anakin had to bite back on his own disappointment—and then he hadn't even realized that he _wanted_ Obi-Wan to wake up until that moment.

 _Bad idea_ , Anakin thought. That kind of thinking was almost certainly a bad idea.

But he would just have to worry about that later.

Anakin shifted his grip on Obi-Wan. "Lead the way."

\--

What had once been a shower of rain now turned into downpour. Ahsoka kept wiping the water from her face, and once or twice, she had to stop completely just to remember where they were going. The rain had gotten into her boots a long time ago too, and the bits of fabric she had stuffed into them had long since become wet.

Ahsoka turned around to look at Anakin. He was trying to blink around the rain too, and save for a few grunts, he had kept largely quiet. The rain, if anything, seemed a little better for him—that foggy, not quite focused look had gone from his face, instead replaced by a grim kind of determination.

Still, Ahsoka heard herself ask, "Do you want to…"

"No," Anakin said.

Ahsoka turned back around. She made it a few more steps before her foot caught against something slick. Down she went, and Ahsoka heard Anakin's sharp, " _Ahsoka_ —"

"I'm okay," Ahsoka said breathlessly, jumping back to her feet. She looked down and there, amidst the rain, she saw the glisten of ice on the ground. Ice and...Ahsoka looked forward and saw the faintest patches of white that were only semi-melting under the rain.

Ahsoka grinned.

She didn't bother explaining the rest—she knew that Anakin saw what she was looking at, too, and the two of them made their way across the increasingly icy ground. Once or twice, Ahsoka thought Anakin would fall—and each time, she reached out to grab him back.

And eventually, the iced over dirt gave way to—

Brightness.

Everywhere.

Ahsoka blinked a few times, looked up at the snow and icy landscape in front of her. Even despite the rain, it gleamed and shone, reflecting whatever light must have been left behind. Spotless—that was what the landscape was, with not a hint of dirt or blood.

Ahsoka shivered as a cold wind swept by. She hugged her arms and tried to lift her head against the rain to get a better look at the landscape in front of her, but Anakin beat her to it.

"There," he said. "Left."

Ahsoka looked to her left. At first, she couldn't really see anything, but then the rain and wind changed direction just the slightest, and Ahsoka saw the grey of a cliffside.

 _Shelter_.

Without speaking to one another, Ahsoka and Anakin made their way to the cliffside. Ahsoka ignored the cold spearing into her as she walked forward—but her hands and her legs shook, and her head was starting to hurt from being in the cold for so long.

 _Maybe some tributes will freeze after all,_ Ahsoka thought. But given that the landscape seemed deserted, Ahsoka wouldn't have been surprised if some tributes were hiding out in the forest somewhere. Maybe some had gone back to the volcano.

Ahsoka shivered again, trying to imagine the long trek back to the Cornucopia. If there was anyone at the Cornucopia…Ahsoka briefly wondered if maybe Barriss had made her way there. Or if maybe Barriss was still in the forest somewhere, probably hiding out in the rain. Ahsoka wasn't sure if she wished that Barriss was in the forest or at the Cornucopia or even in one of the other outcroppings. And even deeper down, Ahsoka didn't know if she would have preferred that Barriss wasn't alive at all—

Ahsoka cast another glance backwards, even though there wasn't anything to actually look at except for the forest being left behind. She wondered if the Capitol had picked up the dead bodies yet. If they had picked up Savage and...that boy. District 12. The one whose blood still seemed to coat itself over Ahsoka's hands, even though the rain had long since washed it away.

Ahsoka saw her home suddenly: saw her dad and her brothers watching Ahsoka's stunned expression as the boy pitched forward, sword still buried deep in his chest. Anakin tugging the sword back out, with that stony expression on his face.

Ahsoka glanced over at Anakin. He still hadn't said anything on the matter, and Ahsoka wasn't sure if she wanted to ask.

She glanced back to the front. She just had to focus—

Anakin swore, and Ahsoka turned around in time just as he started to fall. Only this time, she wasn't able to catch him—and Anakin and Ahsoka and Obi-Wan all crashed into the snow.

The good news, at least, was that the snow hadn't completely iced over—but all the same, Ahsoka struggled against the ground, trying to remember how to regain her breath against the cold blowing around her. She heard both Anakin and Obi-Wan groan beside her, and when she turned, she found Anakin already clumsily getting up to his feet.

"Sorry," he said. "My fault—"

"It's okay," Ahsoka replied. Or tried to reply. It came out slightly garbled, both from the cold and from the snow that had slipped its way down Ahsoka's throat. She spat some of the snow out, made her way up to her feet. "Is he—"

"Awake," Obi-Wan mumbled. He slowly lifted his head from the snow, his eyes dull but at least semi-focused on their surroundings. He started to stand up, and this time, both Anakin and Ahsoka leaned forward to support him.

Obi-Wan, Ahsoka noticed, didn't complain—whether that was because he was too tired or too cold to, Ahsoka didn't know, but she couldn't help but be glad of it, because she didn't particularly feel like complaining either.

"We're almost there," she said. "We just have to…" She didn't bother finishing. She just nodded towards the outcropping.

Luckily, Anakin and Obi-Wan didn't seem to need any more of a signal, either. They walked—staggered forward, and when Ahsoka turned around, she found that the snow was already covering up their tracks.

\--

They collapsed to rocky ground a few minutes later, just barely after slipping into a small opening in the cliffside. The good news, Obi-Wan realized dully, was that the inside of this opening was at least dry, and it at least was a bit warmer than the outside, where both snow and rain still came rushing down.

For a while, Obi-Wan could just listen to Anakin and the girl—District 11, Ahsoka Tano, Obi-Wan was remembering now—breathe on either side of him. Eventually, Anakin rolled over on his back, and then Obi-Wan followed, and lastly, Ahsoka.

They all exhaled.

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes up to the rock ceiling. He found a few icicles, and as a gust of wind swept by, Obi-Wan managed, "We should move."

"We've been walking for hours," Anakin mumbled. "Just a minute."

An icicle dropped in the space between Obi-Wan and Anakin.

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan.

"Fine," he said after a beat. "We'll move."

With barely suppressed groans and sighs, the three dragged themselves away from the entrance and deeper into the cliff opening. And in the end, Obi-Wan figured that was a good thing, because the deeper they went, the dryer (and therefore slightly warmer) it seemed to get.

The three of them dragged themselves against the rock wall. Pain lanced up Obi-Wan's wrist and arm, but it didn't feel quite as painful as it had been before...he looked down at his hand. Still swollen and still red, but it had lost that strange purple color now. He frowned. Maybe…

"The snow," Ahsoka said. She was looking at Obi-Wan's hand too, her eyes growing just a little wider. "The cold—it must have helped."

"Must have," Obi-Wan agreed. He turned the hand over, settled it on his lap. He looked at the girl properly this time. Up close, she was much, much younger than Obi-Wan had seen her both during the reaping and the training room and the interviews. Much smaller, too, but that nonchalant innocence had long since faded from her face—just as Obi-Wan had predicted.

Ahsoka looked back up at Obi-Wan. Those bright eyes of hers seemed to challenge him—and she lifted her chin as though to prove that point. Obi-Wan could see why Anakin had taken a liking to her.

"I suppose I'm to thank the two of you," Obi-Wan said after a little while.

Anakin huffed beside Obi-Wan. "You _suppose_ …"

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said. He glanced over at Anakin, who was busy wringing out his jacket. "Although I don't quite know how you…"

"Found you?" Anakin asked, still wringing out his jacket. "Coincidence." He slapped the jacket against the rock wall, turned to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. "Take those off—we're going to want to dry them at least a little."

Ahsoka started tugging off her jacket immediately, but Obi-Wan paused.

"There isn't such a thing as coincidences," Obi-Wan said. "Not here."

"What makes you say that?" Anakin asked. He settled his jacket against his lap. "Do you need help?"

"No," Obi-Wan replied. He tugged at his own jacket the best he could with his good hand. After a few clumsy fumbles of his hand, he managed to get his jacket free. He shivered as another wind blew past them—not quite as strong as the others, and not quite as bad as it could have been, considering that they had shelter, but all the same, Obi-Wan wished that it would at least stop raining.

"So—what was that about coincidences?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan rested his head against the wall behind them. "This entire place is controlled by the game makers," he said flatly. "That should be reason enough."

"It wasn't like the game makers forced Ahsoka and me to run into you," Anakin said. "Maybe we just got lucky."

Obi-Wan gave Anakin a sidelong stare. "Our definitions of luck are very different, then."

That gave everyone some pause.

Finally, Ahsoka cleared her throat. "Luck or not, we might as well know each other, right?" Ahsoka asked. She pushed herself away from the wall and turned to Obi-Wan. "I'm Ahsoka."

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied. "I know."

A corner of Ahsoka's lips twitched. "Good," she said. "Because I know you, too. And Anakin and I already got to know one another while you were out."

Obi-Wan vaguely remembered snatches and snippets of muted conversation above him from the forest. Ahsoka's hands had been red with blood...Anakin saying something about leaving a body behind, while Ahsoka protested something…

Obi-Wan glanced between the two. "Yes," he said slowly. "I would imagine so."

Another wind blew past, and this time, they all looked out of the opening. The rain was falling down even harder now, so much so that Obi-Wan could barely make out anything beyond the sheet of grey and white. He shivered again, inching his jacket over himself.

"Well," Anakin said after a little while. "There won't be anyone coming after us in _that_ weather."

"Do you think there's anyone else around here?" Ahsoka asked.

"I didn't see anyone following us," Anakin replied. "So if there's anyone else around, then they're either on the other side or on the other end of the arena. Or in the trees, probably getting soaked."

Obi-Wan looked out. A wind howled again, this time loud enough for the hairs on the back of Obi-Wan's neck to stand up. Anakin and Ahsoka seemed to hear it too, because they both paused and looked out the opening with the same kind of wariness that Obi-Wan imagined he was wearing himself.

"So there's an us now," Obi-Wan said after some time.

Anakin blinked. He turned to Obi-Wan. "Yeah," he replied. "Any objections to that?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Given our current situation," he murmured, "I don't think I have much of a choice."

"That's the spirit," Anakin said.

Another wind howled outside, and everyone fell silent yet again.

"You know," Anakin said, "if there _is_ anyone following us, the rain will take care of it."

"Them," Ahsoka said.

Anakin paused. "Right," he said. "Them."

They didn't bother to speak for a long time after that.

\--

Rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A brief silence, and then—

"Well, at least they found each other."

"Took them long enough."

"But do you think they'll…"

"They will," Qui-Gon said, folding his arms across his chest. He looked at the screen, where Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka were all staring out the opening. "They've made it this far."

"There's still six tributes left," Padmé said.

"So they're halfway through," Rex replied.

They all watched the screen warily.

Finally, Padmé said, "About the boy…"

Deep sighs from all of them.

"There'll be more," Qui-Gon said after a while. "But we all knew the cost."

"It's terrible," Padmé said dully.

"Which is why we're doing this in the first place," Rex replied. He turned around in time for the door to open behind them. No one was surprised at the escorts and stylists walking in—they all wore similar expressions, except for perhaps Threepio, who looked his perpetually anxious little frown. "Well?"

" _Well_ ," Asajj said, throwing a little black bag in Rex's direction (and ignoring Rex's little huff of annoyance as he plucked the bag out of the air), "it's acquired. What did you expect?"

"Nothing less," Qui-Gon said.

"Good," Asajj said, and she looped over to the couch. "Satine, darling, that would be your cue."

Satine bristled at the _darling_ , but still, her tone remained steady as she said, "Everything seems to be in place. I've checked myself." She paused. "As for the others…"

"We've discussed that already," Artoo cut in. He looked at the mentors. "Or _they've_ discussed that already."

Qui-Gon remained unruffled. "Any other updates?" he only asked.

"No," Threepio chimed. "Just...er. The families, sir—"

"That'll be taken care of," Rex said with a pointed look to Asajj.

"Yes, I suppose so," Asajj said, examining her nails.

" _Ventress_."

"Fine," Asajj said, swinging her legs off the couch. "I'll do that _now_. Really, from the way you three all speak…" She cast them all a throwaway smirk. "You'd think we were running out of time."

"Just get it done," Padmé said.

"Yes, dear," Asajj said sweetly. And then she was walking out, and everyone else was turning back to the screen.

Meanwhile, Cody came up to Rex's side. The two glanced at each other once, nodded. Looked back to the screen.

"Well, Rex old boy," Cody said after a little while, "you think it'll actually be pulled off this time?"

A pause.

"It better," Rex said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm terribly sorry for both being a day late and also for the shortness of the chapter-real life, unfortunately, threw a wrench my way, and i was in a bit of a hayday situation for a little bit. next chapter will actually be the length that i wanted!
> 
> as always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	11. Nightmares (Part Three)

Anakin didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up to feeling his stomach growl—not the kind of growl that he was used to, but this one a little more painful, the kind that only came after too much time passing with too little food. Anakin figured that was only natural, because he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t tree bark…

Anakin pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. Ahsoka was curled up next to him, her head pillowed by folded hands. Her jacket covered her like a small blanket, and when Ahsoka shifted against the ground, it slipped a little from her shoulder.

Anakin dragged the jacket back up. Ahsoka, to his surprise, didn’t wake. For a disconcerting moment, he wondered if that was a bad thing—and then he wondered if it was bad that he was wondering that in the first place—but then Ahsoka shivered, and she shifted a little against the ground.

Anakin paused, waiting for her to wake, but Ahsoka just mumbled something and lapsed back into sleep.

He let out a breath and looked up. Where was—

He found Obi-Wan sitting at the mouth of their little cave.

_Huh._

Anakin pushed himself up to his feet and, rubbing a hand over his face, he managed to reach Obi-Wan’s side. He tried to move as quietly as he could so to avoid waking Ahsoka, but when he took another step, Obi-Wan turned around.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“I was about to say the same of you,” Anakin replied. He sat down and looked at Obi-Wan. His color seemed to have gotten better since the last time Anakin had seen him—but then again, the last time Anakin had seen him, they’d both been partially frozen.

“Are you—”

Obi-Wan lifted his hand.

Anakin looked down. The swelling had decreased considerably.

“Ahsoka was right. The cold certainly helped,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his hand to his lap.

“And you’re not tired? If you needed someone else to take watch…”

“I’ve slept for nearly the entirety of…” Obi-Wan frowned. “How many days?”

Anakin glanced up at the grey sky. Only a little bit of light was peeking through the clouds now, enough for Anakin to think that morning had come at last. “Maybe a day?”

“There you have it then,” Obi-Wan replied. He turned, held out one of the water bottles. “I’ve re-filled them. It doesn’t look it, but the snow _does_ melt.” He looked around the snowy and icy wasteland. Anakin followed his gaze. “I suspect this really might be the only water source here. That, and the rain.”

“Well, the gamemakers already made it rain once—so they’re probably not going to pull that one on us again, right?” Anakin said halfheartedly. He took a swig of water from the bottle, passed it back to Obi-Wan.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said. “Like I said—I had to refill them.”

Anakin nodded. He took another sip, this time a bit smaller, and then he screwed the cap back on. There was still half of this water bottle and the other one left, so when Ahsoka woke up…

Anakin’s stomach growled again.

Obi-Wan gave him a sidelong glance. “I suspected as much.”

“There’s got to be _something_ around here,” Anakin said, forcing himself to stand up again. Now that he was actually aware of how hungry he was, his body felt both heavier and lighter at the same time. No, his head felt light—it was just his body that felt weighed down.

“There’s nothing out there,” Obi-Wan said, gesturing out to the landscape. “Anything out there would either be frozen or camouflaged too well.”

“Camouflaged,” Anakin said, staring into the snow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, there _are_ animals that blend in with the snow,” Obi-Wan said. “Foxes. Owls, bears even. Up north, I believe. _Far_ north. Not something we’d find back home.”

Anakin snorted, crossing his legs. “Well, not like something I’d find back home, either.”

They were quiet.

“District 3,” Obi-Wan said at last.

“My name’s Anakin.”

“No, I know _that_ —I’m only saying that you’re from District 3. That’s a dryer climate.”

Anakin lifted his shoulders. “Yeah,” he replied. “So no…snow.”

Obi-Wan paused. “So it’s your first time?”

“Sure.” Anakin stretched his arms over his head. “Then again, it’s also my first time being thrown in an arena filled with kids who want to kill each other, so there’s that.” He dropped his arms back down. “And what about you? Is this your first time seeing snow, or…”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, looking out to the landscape. “There’s snow where I come from. No animals, though. Most of them go into hiding when the snow hits.”

A wind blew by. Sharper, carrying with it a whine that sent a chill down Anakin’s spine.

“Is it usually this…”

“Empty?”

“I was going to say _white_ , but sure. That works.”

“Sometimes,” Obi-Wan replied. He looked funny. “Sometimes the snow isn’t all that bad. Children would play with it.”

“ _Play_ ,” Anakin said, looking out to the snowy landscape again. That was something he hadn’t heard of in a while.

“They throw it at each other,” Obi-Wan explained.

“And you didn’t?”

“I did. Once.”

“Busy doing something else?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied simply.

“Like what?”

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin.

Anakin had the feeling maybe he shouldn’t have asked—or maybe he didn’t really need to ask, because of course, Obi-Wan came from District 1, and of course, Obi-Wan was the son of a victor…Anakin suddenly became very, very aware of who he was sitting next to.

He figured he was supposed to be scared—someone who was a little smarter and a little more aware of the situation would probably be scared, but Anakin had dragged Obi-Wan’s unconscious body through half of the arena.

So he stared back at Obi-Wan.

Finally, Obi-Wan said, “We should think about finding food.”

“Right.”

\--

Ahsoka woke up to hearing quiet voices from somewhere to her right. Or, at least, she was fairly certain that was her right—her sense of hearing felt a little off, because she was still trying to blink the sleep from her eyes, and she was still trying to remember exactly where she was…

Ahsoka opened her eyes to find herself staring at a rock wall. Her cheek was pressed raw, and her hands were numb, and her legs were stiff, but Ahsoka managed to sit up. She rubbed a still-numb hand behind her even number and stiffer neck, and she turned to find Anakin and Obi-Wan speaking at the cave mouth.

They had both woken up before her, then. And they had both somehow stayed.

Ahsoka, for some reason, found that she wasn’t too surprised by that.

She stood up and, swinging the jacket around her shoulders, walked towards the two.

“Good morning,” she said.

Both Anakin and Obi-Wan turned to her, clearly startled by her sudden presence.

“Morning,” Anakin said. “We were just going to wake you.”

“Must have read your minds, then,” Ahsoka said, sitting down. She swiped the water bottle from Anakin’s side and, unscrewing the cap, asked, “What’s the plan?”

“You’re already assuming we have a plan?” Anakin asked.

“Sure,” Ahsoka replied. “Because I was the one who got us here, I’m betting that someone has the next part of the plan.” She tilted her head back to catch the water. She set the water bottle back down on the ground and looked expectantly at Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“So?” she prompted. “What are we doing next?’

“First,” Obi-Wan said, “we need to find food.”

Ahsoka nodded. She certainly liked the sound of _that_.

“Only problem,” Ahsoka said, looking out to the snow and ice in front of them. “I don’t think this is where we’ll find food.”

“We figured that part out,” Anakin said.

“So what are we figuring out next?” Ahsoka asked, opening the water bottle again.

“We’re getting to that,” Obi-Wan replied. “We could try to head back for the forest…”

“There was nothing there,” Anakin said. “Except maybe more bugs.”

“They could be gone,” Obi-Wan mused. “Like you said—the gamemakers already pulled one of their tricks on us. They’re not bound to do it again, not unless they’re _very_ bored.”

“Don’t you think the gamemakers are listening to us right now?” Ahsoka asked.

“Let them listen,” Anakin said bluntly.

“What we _mean_ ,” Obi-Wan said, “is that the bugs might not be there.”

Ahsoka remembered the bugs with their strange arms—the _skin_ —and she shuddered, drawing her jacket tighter around herself. No, she didn’t particularly feel like seeing those things again.

Anakin paused. And then he said, “We haven’t seen any of the other tributes. How do you think they’re eating?”

“Maybe they managed to take food from the Cornucopia,” Obi-Wan said. “Or maybe they, too, are taking advantage of the bark.”

Anakin had a strange look on his face. “You don’t think with the bugs…”

Ahsoka’s stomach twisted. “Don’t—”

“I’m just saying, there was that one tribute that ate—”

“Anakin.”

They all fell silent. Ahsoka tried to picture some of the other tributes—Barriss being one of them, tearing the bugs’ arms—

Ahsoka’s mouth suddenly tasted sour, and the thought alone was almost enough to make Ahsoka forget her own hunger.

Almost.

“What matters is that we find food for ourselves,” Obi-Wan said. “There has to be _something_ —”

Before he could finish his sentence, another wind blew. This one fiercer and stronger, and somewhere, in the distance, a howl.

“I wish it would stop doing that,” Ahsoka murmured. “It’s been like that since yesterday.”

“Just the wind,” Anakin agreed.

The wind blew again—yet another howl.

“Strong wind,” Obi-Wan commented.

Ahsoka nodded, resting her forehead against her knees. She wondered what her dad and her brothers might be doing now. If they were watching her now. Her home was so warm, and her district was so warm, and there was never any snow or ice or anything like this…there were fields and the Peacekeepers, to be sure, but there was warmth…and her dad and her brothers and sometimes even the occasional friendly dog that the Peacekeepers would always blame when Ahsoka stole food—

Another howling wind.

Ahsoka closed her eyes.

And then she opened them.

“It’s not just the wind,” she breathed.

Anakin and Obi-Wan both looked at her, their brows so comically furrowed that Ahsoka wanted to laugh. She almost did, right then, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or her hunger or just her overall disbelief with the two.

“It’s not just the wind,” she repeated, shooting up to her feet. “There’s something out there.”

“Do you think it’s…”

Another howl.

Obi-Wan frowned, and then, realization slowly dawning in his eyes, he stood up. “She’s right,” he said. “I don’t know why I couldn’t have thought of it before—”

“If we catch it—”

“So we just catch a wolf,” Anakin said, standing up. “Is it a wolf?”

“Could be a wolf,” Obi-Wan replied.

“So we just catch a wolf,” Anakin repeated. “That should be easy.”

Ahsoka palmed her knives, ignoring the flip-flop sensation in her stomach. “Easiest thing in the world,” she said.

\--

It turned out that catching a wolf was _not_ the easiest thing in the world.

Because firstly, wolves were quick.

And secondly, wolves had very sharp teeth.

And thirdly, wolves were heavy.

Which was why Obi-Wan found himself shoving the wolf’s dead body off of himself with more force than he had expected. And that was saying quite a bit, considering that Obi-Wan had been used to throwing heavy loads in his own training periods, but throwing a whole animal off himself—that was a little different.

Still, as Obi-Wan rolled out from under the wolf, he couldn’t help but feel sorry. It didn’t feel right to kill a creature that was just going about on its own—Obi-Wan was sure the wolf hadn’t asked to be put in the arena, either, but then again, there they all were.

For that, Obi-Wan took to dragging the wolf back himself. And it was bit of a drag—they had found the wolf a good little ways from their cave, but now, Obi-Wan dumped the dead wolf on the rock ground.

“We’re going to need a fire,” Anakin said at last. “Unless you guys are fine with eating raw meat…”

“No,” Obi-Wan and Ahsoka said at once.

“I could…see if I can get something from the forest,” Ahsoka said after a little while. She adjusted her grip on her knives. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes.” As Anakin started to stand up, she added quickly, “You two just work on the…wolf part.”

“Ah, yes. The wolf part,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “The part that no one else wants to take.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ahsoka said, and before anyone else could say anything, she darted out of the cave.

Obi-Wan and Anakin only looked at each other before getting to work.

And it turned out that…skinning the wolf was another experience. He found himself frowning more than he would like.

“This part bother you?” Anakin asked after a while.

“If it does?”

“So it does,” Anakin said, looking at the wolf. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“And yet you’re surprised.”

Anakin lifted his shoulders.

Obi-Wan looked up at the sky. Some of the clouds had since started parting, and now, he could just vaguely remember his own survival lessons growing up. He looked around the landscape and couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph—the first one, Obi-Wan realized, he had felt since coming to the arena.

Obi-Wan walked out to the landscape and dug his sword into the ground. A small crack cut into the air—and Obi-Wan ducked down, picked up the ice waiting for him.

He turned around to Anakin, who only wore a quizzical look.

“An old trick,” he said. He sat down on the ground, and with a few careful inspections of both the ice and the sun coming through the clouds, Obi-Wan positioned himself accordingly.

“What are you—”

“Be patient.”

Anakin huffed.

After a second, Anakin said, “Aren’t your hands cold?”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replied, smoothing out the ice, “but they’ll be fine in a few moments.”

“How—”

“There’s no one out there,” Ahsoka announced, rushing back to the cave. Both Anakin and Obi-Wan jumped. “Oops. Sorry. There’s no one out there.”

“What do you mean, there’s no one out there?” Anakin asked as Ahsoka tossed down handfuls of pine needles. She had a few sticks with her too, some of which she handed to Anakin.

“I mean there’s no one out there,” Ahsoka repeated. “I didn’t hear or see anyone in the forest.”

“Maybe they’re closer to the Cornucopia,” Anakin suggested.

“Maybe.” Ahsoka looked down at the ground. “What’s Obi-Wan—”

“You’ll see,” Obi-Wan replied. At both Anakin and Ahsoka’s continued bewilderment, he added, “I thought you two took the survival course?”

“Do you really think they’d teach us _everything_?” Ahsoka asked.

“Fair point,” Obi-Wan replied. “In any case…” He nodded down at the pile of pine needles. Slowly but surely, the light reflecting off the ice brightened, and then—

Smoke started to curl from the pine needles, and there, a small flame bloomed.

“There we go,” Obi-Wan said. Pleased, he looked at Anakin and Ahsoka. “Better than dragging ourselves all the way to the Cornucopia, isn’t it?”

Nods of agreement in response—and then the three sat down.

“I don’t think I’ve ever…eaten a wolf before,” Ahsoka said.

“I believe it’ll be a first experience for all of us,” Obi-Wan replied.

“But it’ll be a _very_ new experience for you,” Anakin said. He set the raw meat over the stick, twisted it slowly. He looked up and nodded at Obi-Wan pointedly. “District 1.”

They were all quiet for a moment.

“I suppose so,” Obi-Wan said, looking at the small fire.

“Well,” Ahsoka said after some time, “we didn’t get all that much meat back home, so it’ll be a little new for me, too.”

Both Anakin and Obi-Wan looked at her.

Ahsoka shrugged. “Agriculture,” she said. “Sometimes we get a little more if the harvesting season’s good, but for the most part, it’s just…whatever we’re growing.” She shifted against the ground, and she looked like she wanted to say more, but then she added carefully, “Sometimes the Peacekeepers will…give us meat if we really need it.”

It took a moment for Obi-Wan to understand what Ahsoka meant by _giving_. And then he remembered how quickly Ahsoka had climbed the ropes in the training room, her overall swift hands. He couldn’t help but smile a little. He didn’t have too much trouble imagining Ahsoka swooping down to steal whatever it was she needed. He wondered if that was what she did during the trials, too—that certainly would have been enough to surprise the gamemakers.

“And you?” Obi-Wan asked, looking at Anakin.

Anakin rotated the meat. “Just sometimes,” he said. “My mom and I—” He stopped, looked into the flames.

Everyone was quiet again.

“My mom and I run a shop,” Anakin said after a little while. “We fix things.”

“People need things fixed in the technology district?” Ahsoka asked.

“Nothing big,” Anakin replied. “Smaller things.” He didn’t elaborate, and Obi-Wan didn’t feel the need to ask him any more of that. Like Ahsoka, Anakin probably had his own faire share of secrets that he would rather not have broadcasted for the entirety of the country.

“So there’s trading going on,” Anakin said. “Someone brings in something for us to fix, and sometimes we might get something in return.”

A spark leapt up from the fire, but no one reacted.

\--

“So then, life in District 1,” Anakin said after they had all eaten. “What’s that all about?” He kept his eyes on the fire—they had decided to let it keep running, even though it was down to only a few smaller flames now.

“What do you want to know about it?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin shrugged. “It’s not really a matter of wanting to know anything,” he said after a little while. “Really just curiosity at this point. I mean, you’re the Capitol’s favorites and all.”

“That much is true,” Obi-Wan said.

“So?”

“So?” Obi-Wan rested his head back against the rock wall. “We have our comforts, and I’m here.”

Anakin paused. There was something strange in the way Obi-Wan said that— _and I’m here_.

Anakin turned back to the fire. Ahsoka was sitting across from him, her knees drawn up to her chest. She also seemed to contemplate Obi-Wan’s words, although the expression on her face was neutral.

Anakin poked at the fire. He had always thought that District 1 liked sending tributes to the games. Something about bringing glory to the district. At least, some of the past victors had brought that kind of attitude both to and leaving the games.

But judging by the way Obi-Wan spoke, Anakin couldn’t help but feel that perhaps not all the tributes from District 1 felt the same way.

Anakin frowned at the fire. It was obvious that Obi-Wan still had _some_ training—probably more training than the majority of the tributes here, anyways, _and_ with the added fact that his father was the victor…

“Odds weren’t really in your favor then,” Anakin said after a while.

Obi-Wan looked sharply at Anakin. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the son of a victor,” Anakin replied. “You can’t have your name in there _that_ many times.”

“Seven times,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Fourteen,” Anakin said.

“Three.”

Anakin looked at Ahsoka.

“My brother,” Ahsoka said simply. “He put in his name the most out of all of us.” She paused. “Five of us in total. It happens.” She leaned back against the rock wall too, the expression on her face oddly nonchalant. “So I guess the odds just aren’t in our favor, period.”

Anakin thought of the Reaping—that felt like a hundred years ago, but then he remembered how he had at least been glad that he didn’t have to put his name in forty, fifty times. He looked at Ahsoka. Her brother must have been the one to put in his name all those times, then.

And she had still been entered into the games.

And Obi-Wan—only seven times, and he had still been called.

And yet, looking at Obi-Wan, Anakin had the strange feeling that there was something else in the background, too.

 _And I’m here_. As though he was always meant to be.

Anakin paused. But that didn’t—

Then again, District 1 tributes were always fighting over who got to the arena—

But no, Anakin was pretty sure he had seen Obi-Wan’s name pulled out, and volunteering hadn’t been allowed in this year’s Reaping, so—

Before Anakin could ask, there was a loud _crack_ outside.

Everyone started.

“No,” Maul said, emerging to the mouth of the cave. “The odds aren’t in your favor.”

\--

Ahsoka was up in an instant, hands reaching for her knives. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anakin and Obi-Wan jerk up to their feet too, their hands already wrapped around the sword hilts.

“Says the person who comes here alone,” Obi-Wan said.

Maul sneered. Ahsoka had always thought that his eyes and his teeth were too similar a shade of yellow, and up close, that much was confirmed. She twisted the knives around her wrists, eyed Maul warily as he took a step closer.

Everyone instinctively raised their weapons, but no one struck.

“He _is_ alone,” Anakin said aloud, tilting his head at Maul. “Since his buddy was taken care of.”

Ahsoka hadn’t expected Maul to care too much for his ally, but now, Maul’s teeth bared and his eyes narrowed right on Anakin.

“You’ll pay,” Maul said, “for what you—”

“He didn’t kill your friend,” Obi-Wan interrupted, and both Ahsoka and Anakin looked at him—but Obi-Wan was busy watching Maul. Already bracing himself, Ahsoka realized. She noticed Obi-Wan’s heels slightly dig into the ground, the slight opening of his stance. “Although I think you had a feeling of that already.”

Maul’s already twisted face turned even more grotesque as he focused on Obi-Wan. “You should have joined us when you had the chance,” he said quietly.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, “we’ve all been disappointed so far, haven’t we?”

Maul bared his teeth. “You’re about to be disappointed again,” he said.

When he struck, he didn’t go for Obi-Wan. Ahsoka saw the spear coming a moment before anyone else did.

Ahsoka heard shouting around her, but she was already back up on her feet, knives securely in her hands this time. She felt movement behind her, and digging her foot into the ground, Ahsoka spun around and kicked up a good amount of dirt and snow to Maul’s face.

Wait— _dirt_ —

Ahsoka frowned, looked again at the landscape.

The snow was _melting_ —

If it was melting—

Ahsoka slipped— _slipped_ , because now there was enough water to make the ground slippery—back out to the landscape. She saw Obi-Wan and Anakin catch onto her movements from behind Maul, and they didn’t need to speak. They simply followed.

And Maul did, too.

This time, both Anakin and Obi-Wan came for Maul, their swords lifted at the ready. Maul was ready for both of them, twisting his body from one way to the other to block off any blows. Ahsoka, in the meantime, ran to Maul’s back, flipped the knives in her hands. If she could look for an opening—

But before she could concentrate on finding one, she heard the crunch of boots against the snow, and then a quiet whistle.

“ _Duck!_ ” Ahsoka shouted, and she ducked her head in time for a dart to come shooting over her head.

She couldn’t see where the dart landed—if it landed at all, and she blindly hoped that neither Anakin nor Obi-Wan got hit. But right now, she was too busy trying to find District 10—

Ahsoka shot out her leg, hooked it around District 10’s ankle and yanked him down.

She heard a grunt, and then, just as Ahsoka scrambled up to her feet, she felt a cold hand wrap around her own ankle. Ahsoka only had a moment to react before she felt a sudden shock run up her leg, and with a cry, she hit a part of still-solid ice. Her grip loosened on the knives, and for a terrifying, terrifying second, she couldn’t see anything—

Ahsoka heard a shout above her, and then the hand holding her wrist let go.

“Get up, get up—”

Ahsoka blinked to find Anakin dragging her back to her feet.

“Knives—”

“Here.” Yes—Ahsoka wrapped her hands around the hilts of her knives, and she would have offered her thanks if she wasn’t already thinking about where District 10 was, and if Anakin was next to her, then where was Obi-Wan—

She heard shouting from behind, and she decided that Obi-Wan was probably holding off Maul well enough on his own.

District 10, on the other hand, was just barely coming into focus. He had slid away a few feet, and right now, Ahsoka could see him already preparing another dart. His ridiculous hat had been knocked out of the way, revealing a bald head with a few pulsing blue veins. For a moment, Ahsoka just watched that pulse, and then she was back to steadying her knives.

“I’ll be okay,” she said.

“Ahsoka—”

“I’ll be okay,” Ahsoka repeated. “Go help Obi-Wan.”

She saw District 10 smile at her. _Cocky_ , she knew he was thinking. A cocky little kid who didn’t know what she was doing.

Ahsoka smiled back.

 _Try me_.

\--

Obi-Wan supposed that in all honesty, he wasn’t too surprised that Maul would come after him in the end. He had a feeling that this was somehow marked _somewhere_ , from the moment they had seen each other at the Chariots, and then later in the training rooms.

Still, he supposed a part of him had wished that they wouldn’t bother facing each other off at all—or that someone else would have taken care of him by now.

Then again, it wasn’t like Obi-Wan ever got what he wanted.

He dodged to the side. Maul’s sword clanged against the rock wall, right where Obi-Wan’s head had been. Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Anakin helping Ahsoka get up. He could see District 10 staggering up to his feet now, already readying what looked like darts. Obi-Wan was willing to bet they were poisonous—but he had to have more gadgets with him, because whatever he had done to Ahsoka had been enough to knock her down to the ground.

 _District 10_ , Obi-Wan mused. _Livestock_. Certainly not anything related to technology. Whoever was sponsoring District 10 had to be wealthy. Wealthy and ridiculously trusting.

Obi-Wan dodged again as Maul’s spear came rushing down. He could tell that Maul wasn’t fighting with the same rigor that he had earlier in the games—after all, the bug had affected him too, but the difference, Obi-Wan knew, was that Maul was angry. Angry and unhinged, probably by the death of his ally. Savage.

Obi-Wan caught Maul’s spear, threw him back. Maul slipped against the snow, and Obi-Wan saw where some of that snow had parted to reveal a layer of dirt and mud. Obi-Wan could have sworn he saw actual steam rising now, too, although that could just be a trick of the light.

And behind Maul, Obi-Wan saw Anakin rushing back, his sword glinting against the sun, and for a moment, Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin would actually make it—

But Maul spun around, aimed for Anakin’s ribcage.

Anakin dove out of the way, hit the ground. He twisted, brought his legs up to kick Maul over his head.

Maul, to Obi-Wan’s surprise, managed to land on his feet. He was already spinning back around, his teeth bared and snarl halfway past his lips when he lunged again.

“Close,” Obi-Wan commented as Anakin reached his side.

“I tried my best,” Anakin replied.

“And Ahsoka…?”

“She said she’s got it handled.”

Obi-Wan heard a hoarse cry that wasn’t at all Ahsoka’s. He had no doubt that the girl did.

In the meantime, though…Obi-Wan fixed his gaze back on Maul, who was now staring them down.

“Right,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Might as well get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating a few hours late again! I think I might start updating on Thursday mornings starting next week just because of how my schedule's been shifted a little over the last few weeks, if that's okay with you all! 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	12. Ash and Fire

Anakin was glad that Obi-Wan wanted to get this over with— _this_ being Maul, who was still staring them down like they were the only things left in the arena. Which, Anakin supposed, might very well be the case, because he couldn’t imagine Maul would find anyone else who might make decent competition. At least, that was what he told himself as he readied the sword in his grip.

“Well?” Anakin asked. “Are we gonna—”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because in the next second, Maul lunged forward.

Anakin and Obi-Wan scattered—Anakin to the right, Obi-Wan to the left. Anakin kicked up ice and snow, and for a moment, he thought he saw something shimmer and move in the air, but he didn’t get to focus on that for too long because he felt movement behind him.

Anakin spun around to catch the end of Maul’s spear, shoved back. He hoped that he would have pushed Maul back enough to drive him into Obi-Wan, but no, Maul spun around, blocked Obi-Wan’s oncoming blow.

Anakin started forward, his sword raised above his head, but Maul’s foot landed a well-placed kick, and Anakin fell back into the ice. For a moment, he saw another flash of white, and then he smelled something…oddly sweet and yet not. Anakin blinked a few times and looked down at the snow.

There was less snow than there had been just a few minutes ago. He was sure of that now.

If the snow was melting, then the white stuff in the air…

Anakin didn’t have enough time to focus, because he saw the flash of spear coming down again. Before he could get impaled, Anakin rolled over on his side, came up with a mouthful of dirt and snow which he spat out. _Not_ what he needed.

Anakin leapt to his feet and turned, blocked. He caught Obi-Wan moving out of the corner of his eye—but Obi-Wan wasn’t looking at Maul or Anakin. He was looking to the snow, too, a strange look on his face that Anakin couldn’t think of how to properly describe except almost…

 _He was expecting this_ , Anakin thought.

But that didn’t—

Anakin lunged for Maul, and this time, he managed a quick slice at the leg. Maul let out a sharp yell, his knee buckling just the slightest in response to the cut. For a moment, Anakin thought that _yes_ , this might be it, but Maul just looked up at Anakin and shoved himself upwards. Anakin dodged away, the spear coming too close to his chin—but then Obi-Wan was there at his side again, sword just barely keeping the spearpoint away.

“Took you long enough,” Anakin panted, jerking backwards.

Obi-Wan didn’t deign giving him an answer, just a huff of breath that Anakin took to mean _shut up_.

“And this is who you choose to defend,” Maul said, his eyes narrowing at Obi-Wan. “These are the people you chose to ally yourselves with.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Anakin said, reaching down for Maul’s left—Maul blocked Anakin, but he backed away a few steps. Anakin noticed the slight limp with no small amount of satisfaction.

“And what do you think will become of them in the end?” Maul asked Obi-Wan, ignoring Anakin. “You defend them now—what will become of them when it’s just the three of you left?”

Anakin couldn’t help himself—something in him faltered.

“After all,” Maul continued, grunting a little as he blocked Obi-Wan’s blow, “there can only be _one_ victor.”

“You must be tired,” Obi-Wan said, “if you’re suddenly in the mood to talk.”

“And what about you?” Maul asked, panting as he took another step back. “ _Skywalker_ , isn’t it?” His eyes—nearly yellow in this light—met Anakin’s. “What do _you_ think of your new allies? How long do you think you three will have before you need to make a _choice_?”

“And what of Savage?” Obi-Wan asked.

Maul’s face closed, and his lips drew back in an ugly snarl as he re-focused on Obi-Wan. Anakin looked at Obi-Wan too, found a cold matter-of-factness there.

“And if Savage was still alive,” Obi-Wan said, “would you have killed him?”

Maul glowered. “ _You_ killed—”

“Him,” Obi-Wan finished. “Yes, I know.” He brandished his sword. “So I saved you both the time and the effort.”

Another twisted look came over Maul’s face—and then he charged.

\--

Ahsoka and District 10 circled each other slowly, carefully. Ahsoka was reminded a little of some of the mock fights that the children would get into sometimes. The parents would always be angry with them later, and Ahsoka remembered one time, her dad had been especially disappointed when he found out that Comet and Sinker had gotten involved in one of those fights. Ahsoka wondered what her dad was thinking now, and she wondered what her brothers and her dad thought of her as she carefully circled around District 10.

Ahsoka’s hands still rested on her knives. She took one step, then another, and another. The snow hissed under her boots, and with each step, more steam shimmered in the air. Ahsoka flicked her eyes once to see how Anakin and Obi-Wan were doing with Maul. Lots of slashing and dashing and shouting, but besides that, they seemed to be handling themselves well.

They _will_ handle themselves, Ahsoka knew.

She re-focused on District 10. He had his hand settled on the little device that blew the darts. A small slit, Ahsoka could see now—a small slit that probably released the darts. Ahsoka tightened her grip on her knife. If she could get her knife into that slit, she could probably knock out that device completely…

But then there was the matter of the thing that had _shocked_ her. Ahsoka couldn’t see a physical device, but she eyed the gloves District 10 was wearing. That had to be it.

“So,” District 10 drawled, “are we gonna dance, little lady?”

“Who’re you calling _little lady_?”

District 10 smiled. “You’re an interesting one, you know,” he said. “You and your little friend in the start. Faster than she looks.”

Despite herself, Ahsoka faltered. She forced herself to keep circling, keep her face neutral. But her blood turned cold, and it had nothing to do with the fact that there was still snow and ice around her. If anything, she thought that the entire temperature of the place was getting higher, and the fact that the snow and ice was melting wasn’t helping matters either…

“Oh, don’t worry,” District 10 said. “She’s not dead.”

Ahsoka shouldn’t care. She _shouldn’t_ care—

But then again, Ahsoka realized as she looked up to hear a shout—not Anakin or Obi-Wan. Maul. _Then again, she shouldn’t care about anyone else, period_.

“Too fast even for you, then,” Ahsoka said, gripping her knives again. “Good for her.”

“Maybe,” District 10 said. “But I like playing with my food.”

“Funny,” Ahsoka said, smiling, “I prefer just taking it.”

And with that, she let one of her knives fly.

There was a satisfying _thunk_ , and then Ahsoka launched herself forward before District 10 could dislodge the knife from the device. She brought her knee up to District 10’s chest, knocked him backwards. They both fell to the snow and the ice, and for a moment, Ahsoka couldn’t feel anything except the snow and sludge and that was _definitely_ more melted snow—

Ahsoka spat the dirt and snow out of her mouth, and she rolled up on her feet just in time to see District 10 trying to stand up.

_Oh, no you don’t._

Ahsoka launched herself forward and kicked District 10 back down. She heard another _thunk,_ but she didn’t try to think too much of it, not as she swung herself over the tribute. She brought her knee down again, resting it right against District 10’s throat. She heard choked gasps, a gurgling cry. Found bloodshot eyes focus on her, Ahsoka gripped her other knife, held it above her head—

_She could end it—_

Ahsoka looked down at District 10. A little blood had started trickling from his head from where Ahsoka must have shoved him against the ice. He was blinking a little, his eyes bloodshot and just barely focused, and Ahsoka—

District 10 blinked, and with a snarl, he slapped his gloved hand against Ahsoka’s ankle, and she felt the beginnings of a shock crawl up her leg.

That did it.

Ahsoka hoped her dad and her brothers weren’t watching. She hoped that the cameras—wherever they were—would be focused on something that was a little more interesting than this fight, but she had the uneasy feeling that everyone’s attention was on the events that were unfolding right now.

She brought the knife down.

\--

Obi-Wan had been expecting the charge. He had been goading it on from the start, he knew—but he also knew that Maul didn’t need to be goaded, because he had seen that change in Maul’s face from the moment Savage was mentioned.

And he hadn’t been entirely sure what had caused the change—but just that when Savage was mentioned, Obi-Wan saw a different kind of rage that he didn’t think would have been there if Savage had been _just_ an ally.

 _Strange_. Obi-Wan didn’t think that Maul would have been the type to keep friends, but now—

Obi-Wan remembered how closely Maul and Savage had worked together in the training rooms. How they had been working together in the arena. He vaguely remembered Maul dragging Savage up, when Obi-Wan knew that Maul could have easily just left him there to die. And yet…

And there had been other instances, Obi-Wan knew, when he had been in the same position. When he could have been left to die, and yet…

Obi-Wan held up his sword in time to block Maul. He staggered back a half-step, saw Anakin move, but Obi-Wan shook his head. _No._

“I should be _glad_ ,” Maul hissed, his breath sour and rotten. Obi-Wan would have drawn back if he wasn’t looking for another opening. Some other weakness here—

“I should be _glad_ ,” Maul repeated. “Because there won’t be anyone to save _you_ the _time_ and the _effort_ —” He shoved forward with his spear. “When the time comes for _you_ to make a decision between _yourself_ and your _allies_ , you’ll wish that there were still some of us left.”

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened. But he just looked at Maul.

“Somehow,” Obi-Wan said, “I doubt that.”

He sidestepped, pulled his sword out from under Maul’s spear.

Maul hadn’t anticipated that—he pitched forward into the snow, and Obi-Wan pivoted behind him. This time, he saw Anakin move again, and then the two of them both had their swords pointed to Maul’s back—

Maul spun around, his back pressed flush against the ground and he brought his spear up. Obi-Wan and Anakin’s swords hit the staff, and for a moment, Obi-Wan thought that the spear staff would surely break under the pressure, but it held.

Something shimmered out of the corner of Obi-Wan’s eye, and he looked up briefly—if there was someone else coming to the clearing—but no, he just found that it was—

Just the snow. Melting.

 _Ah_.

Obi-Wan blinked the steam out of his eyes. Sweat had started to drip down the back of his neck, although he wasn’t sure when that had started. How the snow had started melting so quickly. How Obi-Wan could feel more mud than snow under his boots now.

And then Maul, too, was craning his neck, looking around at the shimmering steam around them. There was enough steam that when Obi-Wan looked up again, he could barely see Ahsoka moving around. He heard a solid _thunk_ , and for a heart-stopping moment, Obi-Wan wondered if Ahsoka—he couldn’t _see_ her. He couldn’t see anything beyond the cloudy steam now, and Obi-Wan tried to listen for Ahsoka’s light footsteps or for the other tribute’s voice or _anything_ to signal what might have become of them—

“Did she—” Anakin’s voice was harsh.

“I don’t—”

A low laugh from underneath Obi-Wan. Maul.

“No,” Maul said. “Your friend would be much too quick to die now.” The staff was trembling a little under Maul’s grip, and at first, Obi-Wan thought that it was just because Anakin was pressing down harder, but when Obi-Wan looked, Anakin didn’t seem to have changed. And Obi-Wan wasn’t exerting too much more force either, but Maul—Maul, Obi-Wan realized—

Maul was still looking up at Obi-Wan with a quiet rage, but the steam was gathering around them all now, making it difficult for Obi-Wan to tell exactly what was going on.

“No one will save the time and effort for _you_ ,” Maul hissed. “ _No one_. Everything— _everything_ will fall, just as you _fear_ —”

Obi-Wan paused.

That was his mistake.

Obi-Wan felt a hard kick to his side, and then he staggered backwards—he felt Anakin do the same, and he reached out before Anakin could fall over, but then there was more movement, and more steam, and—

Obi-Wan looked up to see Maul’s figure rushing through the steam, spear raised.

He didn’t think.

Obi-Wan brought up his sword.

He heard a sharp gasp, and then Obi-Wan dropped himself down to a knee just as Maul pitched forward. Caught Maul.

He found himself looking down at Maul’s bloodshot eyes.

Maul wasn’t quite looking at him. His mouth was already stained red.

“Everything,” he breathed. “ _Everything_.”

And then his eyes lost focus, and then it was just Obi-Wan and Anakin and the steam.

\--

Two cannons boomed, and Anakin knew that one of them was for Maul.

But the other—

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, who had just lifted his head.

They both dove into the steam, into the direction where Ahsoka had been.

And for a few moments, Anakin couldn’t tell what was going on. There was _so much_ steam, that was what he knew that weird glimmer in the air had been in the first place, but now…he pushed a hand through it, felt the warm, slightly sticky feeling of moisture cling to his hands as he ran forward.

“ _Ahsoka_ —” Both Anakin and Obi-Wan’s voices rang out, and Anakin was surprised (and then he felt bad for being surprised) at the urgency in Obi-Wan’s voice. “Where—”

“Anakin? Obi-Wan?”

And there, just a few steps away from him, Anakin saw a small figure get up. Slowly, that figure solidified, and then they were all crashing into one another, and Anakin didn’t care if he looked stupid—he let out a small sound of relief, tugged Ahsoka in close.

“Are you—” Anakin looked down at Ahsoka, tried to check for any signs of injury, but the girl was already shaking her head.

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” Ahsoka said, but her arm quickly curled over Anakin anyways. A quick squeeze, and she lifted her head just a little bit to give a smile over his shoulder. To Obi-Wan, Anakin knew.

Anakin let go of Ahsoka. “What—”

“He’s dead,” Ahsoka said, and Anakin noticed the bloodied knife dangling by her side. He took one look at it, and then he looked at her. “And…I’m guessing the other cannon—”

“Maul,” Obi-Wan said simply.

For a moment, no one said anything. No one had to. They just looked at each other.

“That’s…” Ahsoka started to say, and then she stopped.

Anakin tried to count. Savage and Maul, District 10, the boy from District 12.

“Four down?”

“Five,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin and Ahsoka both looked at him.

“There was a girl from District 5,” Obi-Wan said. “In the beginning. The bugs.”

There was another short silence at that.

“So five of them, and then the three of us…that makes eight,” Anakin said. “Four left.” He tried to think, but that was hard, because there seemed to be more steam gathering around them. Sweet-smelling, strangely warmer and thicker. He moved his hand through the steam again. He didn’t _feel_ anything, but…

“District 6, 7, and 9,” Obi-Wan said. He was looking around the steam now too, that still strange expression on his face. An almost quiet kind of resignation.

“And District 8,” Ahsoka said quietly.

When Anakin looked at her, Ahsoka was wiping her knife on some semi-melted snow. She looked up at Anakin, but she didn’t want to seem to add any more information. She just stood back up and tucked the knife back at her side. And then, looking around the steam, she said, “What _is_ this stuff? It’s not just…”

Before Anakin or Obi-Wan could say anything, she reached up to touch a curl of steam.

“There’s nothing there,” Anakin said. “It’s just the steam.” But even as he said that, Anakin wasn’t quite sure if he could believe himself. There wasn’t anything _just_ about the Games, and there wasn’t anything _just_ about the arena. Anakin again could have sworn that the steam smelled funny, and he remembered games when there were toxic gases, but right now, he couldn’t _feel_ anything strange in his head. He was pretty sure he would have felt something if there _was_ anything strange about the steam, but all the same…

Anakin shot a quick look at Obi-Wan again, trying to gage out his reaction. But Obi-Wan was looking at the steam too, the expression on his face turned blank. When Obi-Wan caught Anakin watching him, he just pressed his lips together. Shrugged.

 _He’s not saying something_ , Anakin thought. But before he could say that out loud, Ahsoka spoke again.

“I know,” Ahsoka said, dropping her arm to her side. “But if the snow and the rain were the only sources of water, then…”

“Then we’re being driven back to the Cornucopia,” Obi-Wan said grimly. “It’s an old trick from the gamemakers.”

“So a trap,” Anakin said. “To get all the tributes together.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He sheathed his sword, looked at Ahsoka and Anakin expectantly.

Anakin and Ahsoka looked at each other.

The young girl had her hands wrapped around both knife hilts again, and she looked more tired than anything else, but Anakin realized with a jolt that she wasn’t planning on going anywhere, either.

 _Four left_.

And then it would just be the three of them.

Anakin hated that.

He turned back around to Obi-Wan. “What now?”

A corner of Obi-Wan’s lips twitched. “Spring the trap,” he said.

\--

It turned out that _springing the trap_ did, in fact, mean trekking all the way back to the Cornucopia. At first, Ahsoka thought that would be too much of a tedious journey. After all, they had spent the last few days just getting to this side of the arena, but either they had all gotten stronger and faster, or the gamemakers had somehow shrunk the arena.

Ahsoka suspected the latter might be the case, though, because in only a little while, the trees gave way to rocky and ashy ground, and the arena grew warmer. Ahsoka took off her jacket and tied it around her waist, still making sure her knives were within easy reach. She glanced up at Anakin and Obi-Wan, who also had since taken off their jackets.

“So,” Ahsoka said, stepping up the rocky ground, “what’s our plan?”

“Take over the Cornucopia,” Anakin replied first. He stepped over a rock, helped Obi-Wan up. “Not die.”

“A rather simple plan,” Obi-Wan said, offering a hand to Ahsoka.

Ahsoka slipped her hand into his, and even though she could get up herself, she let Obi-Wan bring her up the rocks. She kicked away some ash. She wondered if maybe any of the tributes might be able to track them by their footprints in the ash, but she brushed the thought away. They were all coming anyways, she realized.

A part of Ahsoka wanted to just be satisfied with Anakin’s answer. _Take over the Cornucopia—not die_. That seemed like a plan Ahsoka could get behind.

But the tug in Ahsoka’s gut told her otherwise.

And Anakin seemed to know what Ahsoka really meant too, because he wasn’t looking at her. Obi-Wan wasn’t either. But their expressions were different—under the faintest red glow of the light from the volcano, Anakin’s face seemed to take on a darker shade than it normally was. More shadows. Obi-Wan’s face, on the other hand, was lit up by the glowing fires. Ahsoka could see the quiet worry there, but she wasn’t sure how else to interpret what was going on.

 _Worried for us, or worried for himself?_ Ahsoka wondered.

“We’ll have to elaborate on the plan once we complete the first step,” Obi-Wan said. As though sensing Ahsoka’s thoughts, he shot her a brief, halfhearted smile.

Ahsoka tried for a smile back, but it didn’t feel right.

They kept walking up the volcano, the heat steadily growing more and more intense as they came closer to the actual Cornucopia. Ahsoka looked back once to see if there was anyone following them—but there wasn’t any movement in the trees, and Ahsoka couldn’t see anyone else for miles and miles. Some relief at that, but only some.

“Here we go,” Anakin said, straightening.

Ahsoka turned back to the front. They were standing at the lip of the volcano now, staring down at the bits of still-floating rock that had once held the tributes. Ahsoka felt like that had been years ago. A whole lifetime ago.

She clutched her hands around her knives.

“Right,” she said. “What’re we waiting for? Ladies first?”

She took a step down, but just as she did, she heard something whistle behind her. Something quick, too quick for Ahsoka to make out, and then pain—sharp, blinding pain—at her shoulder.

Ahsoka cried out, heard shouts of surprise around her. She felt a warm hand scramble up her arm, but that didn’t matter—Ahsoka was there first, clapping a hand over where the knife—because it was a _knife_ —nicked her. Warm blood dribbled between her fingers, and _huh_ , it was one thing to feel someone else’s blood on her hands, but she was discovering only now that feeling her own blood was something else entirely.

Ahsoka turned around, already reaching for her own knives, but then—

She saw Barriss scrambling up the side of the volcano with alarming speed, her hands already palming for what Ahsoka could only guess were the other knives.

 _Oh_.

Ahsoka knew that she should have seen that coming.

She _should have seen that coming_.

But all the same, something twisted in Ahsoka.

“There’s District 8,” Anakin muttered under his breath.

Ahsoka wished she could say something, but she didn’t. She ignored the blood dripping down her arm as she reached for her other knife. Pain blistered at her shoulder again, and blood erupted at the side of Ahsoka’s lip from where she was biting down so hard. _Don’t don’t don’t don’t_ —

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, “take Ahsoka to the Cornucopia.”

 _No_ —

Barriss was coming closer. Ahsoka could see tribute’s hands spinning the knives in her hands, the look of determination on her face, but then—

Ahsoka smelled something sweet.

Somewhere behind her, she heard a scream, and Ahsoka spun around to see two other tributes dancing along the opposite edge of the volcano. One tribute held a bow and arrow, using the bow to shove aside her opponent. Districts 6 and 9, Ahsoka realized.

“ _Lux!_ ” District 9 was shouting. “ _Lux, it’s me_ —”

Ahsoka frowned. There was something not…right—

_Of course nothing’s right—remember where you are—_

_No—_

That sweet smell grew stronger, and Ahsoka turned back around to Barriss. She was coming ever closer, but now, Ahsoka could see that what she had thought was determination on her face was what Ahsoka could now only describe as a daze. Barriss’ lips were still drawn back in a scowl, and her eyebrows were furrowed together, but her eyes—

“I don’t think,” Ahsoka started to say, but Barriss let her other knife fly.

She ducked, crashed to the rocky ground. Ahsoka felt new cuts open at her arms and legs, and then she heard Obi-Wan say, “ _Anakin, now_ —”

But Ahsoka was already scrambling up, and ignoring both Anakin and Obi-Wan’s shouts, she ran down to meet Barriss.

\--

“What’s she _thinking_?” Anakin asked, standing up.

Obi-Wan didn’t know, but he didn’t bother giving Anakin an answer. He just ran down the rocky side, and just as he took a step, a cannon boomed. For a second, Obi-Wan’s heart plunged, but Ahsoka and the other tribute—Barriss—were still standing.

Another cannon boomed.

“6 and 9,” Anakin said, running behind Obi-Wan.

 _Two more down_.

That just made Barriss and the other one—the boy from District 7—left.

Obi-Wan would have to think on that later. _Later_.

“Barriss!” Ahsoka shouted now. “It’s _me_!”

 _That won’t matter_ , Obi-Wan thought. Now much closer, Obi-Wan saw the glaze over the other tribute’s eyes. All around him, Obi-Wan smelled that same cloying, sickly-sweet smell that had started back at the snowscape. He wondered if Barriss had been at the snowscape this entire time, and if that had somehow affected her, or if maybe—maybe only this version of the smoke and steam affected her now.

“ _Barriss!_ ” Ahsoka cried again, ducking a strike. “Snap _out_ of it!”

 _That won’t matter_ , Obi-Wan thought again.

And he knew it wouldn’t—because even if Barriss woke out of whatever dream she was in, they would all still be in the games. Someone would still have to die.

And yet Ahsoka still shouted, and even though Obi-Wan couldn’t see her face, he could hear the rawness in her voice to know that something had _changed_. Even Anakin didn’t have anything to say, and when Obi-Wan looked at him, his face had closed.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan started, grabbing Ahsoka’s arm. “Get _away_ —”

But Ahsoka yanked herself out of Obi-Wan’s grip. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” Ahsoka said. “That has to be against the rules—she can’t just—” Her voice cracked, but then she was spinning back around to Barriss, and with a speed Obi-Wan couldn’t comprehend, she lifted up her knife to block Barriss’ own.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan started quietly.

“ _No_ ,” Ahsoka said harshly. “People like… _the others_ —they—they were going to kill us _anyways_ , but _her_ —” She pointed at Barriss, who was struggling back up to her feet, that still ever-vacant look in her eyes. “ _Please_ —we can’t just let her—”

Obi-Wan looked at Ahsoka. He had thought he had seen Ahsoka as a child before—back when she had waved at the Reaping and at the chariots and even during the interviews. He thought _that_ was the child, but now, Obi-Wan saw that the real child was standing in front of him. Eyes too wide, lips slightly parted in a plea.

“ _Please_ ,” Ahsoka said. “She’s not _choosing_ to do this.”

“None of us did,” Anakin said.

Both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka turned around to look at him. Despite the glow of the fires around them, Anakin’s face was still darkened by the shadows and the ash mixed with his own sweat.

That second cost them all.

Because in the next second, Barriss lunged forward, and Obi-Wan moved to jerk Ahsoka back, but it was too late—Barriss’ knives were already out, and Ahsoka—

A cannon boomed.

Obi-Wan heard a barely restrained cry. A small sob, and then Ahsoka dropping down to her knees.

“ _Ahsoka_ —”

But Ahsoka let go of her knives, and she stood up.

No blood, no mark on her.

But Barriss remained on the ground.

Ahsoka picked up her knives.

Obi-Wan saw her open her mouth to say something, but then she closed it.

Obi-Wan found that he didn’t have much to add on, either.

But they all stood around Barriss’ body.

“We should—” Obi-Wan started, but then he heard something sharp dig into the ground.

Both Ahsoka and he spun around to Anakin.

He had his sword buried into the rock, his head hanging low.

“Anakin?”

For a moment, no one spoke.

“Anakin,” Ahsoka said quietly. “Are you—”

“ _Go_.”

Both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka froze.

Anakin lifted his head, and there weren’t any shadows on his face then. Just a paleness that made Obi-Wan feel cold all over.

“ _Go_ ,” Anakin said through gritted teeth. “ _Now_.”

“What is he—”

The sweet smell grew stronger.

Sweet, and then somewhere else, mingled in the background—smoke. Something burning, decaying.

Obi-Wan caught Anakin’s eyes.

He understood—but only a moment too late.

When Anakin lifted his sword, Obi-Wan brought his up to meet it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caroline update in the morning like you said you would challenge--so sorry for leaving you guys hanging until now, everyone! I don't know what it is about the work week, but it always seems to throw me off-kilter, but I'm glad that I finally was able to sit down and actually update for you guys today, like I said I would! 
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


	13. Ignite the Stars

“Updates on the districts?”

Satine passed along her touchscreen. She stared up at the television screen sitting in front of her. Kept her hands stiff at her sides as she watched the cluster of tributes scramble around the edge of the volcano.

“You’re displeased,” Qui-Gon said.

“We should have moved by now,” Satine replied. She nodded to the screen. The girl from District 11 was pulling herself out from under District 8’s body. “There’s only a few of them left. Why are we waiting?”

“We need to be sure,” Qui-Gon said. “If the others…”

“The others _will_ pull through,” Rex said determinedly. “You’ll see.”

“And I don’t _doubt_ that,” Satine said, “but it’s…” She gestured to the screen. “There’s only four of them left.”

“They’ll pull through,” Padmé said. “I know they will.”

They were all quiet.

And then Ventress said, “Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

They all looked to the screen again.

\--

Anakin didn’t know what he was doing.

That was the worst part, he realized.

The smoke stung his eyes, and his lungs felt too tight and not right, and he couldn’t really hear what was going on around him. He could hear his own breaths, though. Hear his breaths and the distant clash of sword on sword. Someone shouting—shouting his name, maybe? He wasn’t sure of that either.

And he saw blue eyes. Maybe blue eyes. Blue-grey, oddly familiar. Anakin remembered seeing a pair of eyes like those one before, only that had been a long, long time ago, back when he had been…standing on something. A chariot. He remembered a chariot, and he remembered lighting up.

He was lighting up now, Anakin realized. That was why his eyes were stinging—not just from the smoke, but from the flames that were creeping up around him. He was dully aware of some pain licking at his ankle—but then Anakin rolled over, stamped the flame out.

“ _Get away!_ ”

Anakin looked up to find the owner of those blue-grey eyes. A face was swimming in front of him, a familiar face with eyebrows drawn in both anger and something that might have resembled sadness. But those words hadn’t meant for Anakin, he realized. They had been meant for someone else, who Anakin could see hovering behind now—a girl.

She was familiar, too.

“It’s not him!” the girl shouted. “We don’t have to—”

But it didn’t matter if _they_ didn’t have to— _Anakin_ had to.

He surged up, heard the girl’s yell of warning.

The person in front of Anakin spun back around, caught his blade. Shoved Anakin away, and Anakin nearly toppled over the edge of—oh, so that was the volcano. That was the lava spitting up at him and the fire starting around his feet. He didn’t want to get in there.

Anakin snarled, looking back at his attacker.

“Anakin,” his attacker said now, panting slightly, “if you’re in there at all, please—“

Anakin launched himself forward.

“You don’t want to do this,” his opponent said through gritted teeth. _Good._ Gritted teeth meant concentrating, and concentrating meant that Anakin was _forcing_ him to concentrate, and if Anakin was forcing him to concentrate, then Anakin must have had the advantage some way or another—

Anakin pressed forward. “I do,” he said. “I _do_.”

His opponent’s face faltered.

Anakin took the moment to swing his leg around, kick as hard as he could.

This time, his opponent staggered backwards, crashed right into the girl behind him.

They both struggled upwards, and this time, when Anakin advanced, it was the girl who stepped up first.

“Anakin,” the girl said. “It’s _us_. Okay?”

“Ahsoka, get _back_ —”

“It’s him,” the girl said determinedly. “Anakin?” She had knives at her sides, but Anakin noticed she didn’t reach for them.

She could reach for them. She should reach for them.

Anakin steeled himself. _She should reach for them_.

He brought the sword down, and then in a flash, the girl had both her knives up, blocking the blow in a tight _X._ She slid from underneath, and then she was behind Anakin.

Anakin spun around, already lifting his sword to block a blow, but it never came. The girl just hovered on the rock, the expression on her face fierce and still locked in that ever-determined glower. “Anakin,” she said again. “We’ve almost made it. Okay? So if you would _just_ —”

Anakin’s head hurt. She shouldn’t be talking. _Why was she still talking_ —

Anakin lunged forward, and the girl skittered out of the way. She scrambled up the ledge of the volcano—a dangerous place to be for someone so small and light, but if she was willing to take her chances, then so was Anakin. He started to go up, but then he heard the whistle of something sharp coming his way, and—

He turned around, clashed against the other opponent—the young man, the one with the blue-grey eyes. Their swords hit each other’s with a strike hard enough to send vibrations up Anakin’s arm, but he didn’t care.

His opponent pressed forward, causing Anakin to grind his feet deeper into the rocky soil. Ash and sweat streaked his opponent’s face, but besides that, there was nothing weary or tired in his stance, his movements. This person wasn’t going to back down, and neither was Anakin.

With a frustrated growl, Anakin shoved back against his opponent again. This time, his opponent anticipated it. He side-stepped, and Anakin staggered forward. He spun back around.

His opponent was panting slightly, but he held his sword high and ready, his eyes ever so focused on Anakin.

Anakin’s head hurt again. It throbbed once, pulsed right behind his eyes, and for a moment, Anakin could just stare—but then he was back, he was back, and he had his sword in his hand, and he wasn’t going to let anyone cut him down—not before Anakin cut down his opponent first.

He ran forward, but at the last second, his opponent stuck out his foot, and Anakin tripped forward. He swallowed dirt and ash and felt something sharp cut at his face, but he didn’t care. He rolled over on his back, brought up his sword before he could get the blade to his face.

“Feel like fighting now?” Anakin whispered.

“No,” his opponent replied, and he sounded sorry.

That made Anakin angry.

He brought up his leg, kicked his opponent back.

His opponent slipped backwards, just as Anakin had wanted, but before he could strike, there was another blur of black and silver, and then the girl was standing in front of him again—no, not just standing in front of him, but standing _between_ Anakin and his opponent.

Breathing hard, both her hands wrapped around her knives, the girl snarled, “ _Don’t_.”

\--

Ahsoka hated this.

She hated everything. She hated the games, and she hated that she was born in a time and in a country where there were such thing as the games, and she hated the fact that she was in this arena, and she hated the fact that there were only four people left, and she hated that she was fighting Anakin, and she hated that she knew that this was how the games were supposed to be—this was how the games were _always_ supposed to be, and she hated that she knew that somewhere, her dad and her brothers might even be rooting for her to get out alive, and she hated that getting out alive might mean that she might have to drive her knife through _another_ person.

Killing the boy from District 10 hadn’t been easy. Ahsoka had hated it, in the end. She had hated feeling the blood on her hands, and she hated seeing the light go out from his eyes, even if he had been the one trying to hunt her down first.

And killing Barriss—

Ahsoka was done with killing people today.

And the worst part—the worst part was that Ahsoka was almost certain that Barriss hadn’t known what she was doing. Because when Barriss had looked at her, Ahsoka had seen a kind of blankness that she saw overtaking Anakin’s eyes now.

 _No more_.

Ahsoka spun the knives around in her hands. “ _Don’t_ ,” she hissed. “Take one more step—I _swear_ , and…”

Anakin just looked at her with that awful blank blue gaze. “Or?”

“Or…” Ahsoka didn’t have anything.

“You’ll hate yourself,” Ahsoka finally said. ‘You’ll hate yourself in the end—because they all hate themselves in the end, but you’ll hate yourself the most.” She steeled herself, considered lifting her knives higher. Instead, she lowered the knives. “So _don’t_. Please.”

For a moment, Ahsoka could have sworn she saw something flicker across Anakin’s face—something, anything. But maybe that was just the embers of the fires, or maybe that was just the passing clouds of ash, because in another instant, Anakin’s face was blank again, and he had drawn his sword.

“Okay,” Ahsoka said, her heart sinking, “fine.”

She rushed forward to block Anakin’s attack, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Obi-Wan already skirting around. Trying to get Anakin’s other side—and for a moment, Ahsoka hated that too. She hated that she both wanted and didn’t want this all to be over, because if this was over, then that meant that one of them had died—but in the end, two of them were supposed to die anyways. Well, no. _Three_ of them were supposed to die—but Ahsoka didn’t even know where the last tribute was—the boy, Ahsoka remembered. Some small boy who could be anywhere. Hiding in the trees, maybe already hiding out on the Cornucopia.

Ahsoka almost started laughing at that. Someone winning the games because he had just been hiding out during the actual bloodshed…

She shouldn’t be laughing.

Ahsoka ducked another blow, and springing off from her rocky perch, Ahsoka kicked at Anakin’s chest. He slipped backwards, but only slightly. He was already storming forward, and too late, Ahsoka realized that he was coming in too fast, and Ahsoka had overshot—she had kicked so that she would be closer than she would have liked

Ahsoka ran backwards, feeling along the incline of the volcano. Rocky bits of soil made their way into Ahsoka’s boots. Her too loose boots. Ahsoka hated that, too.

She scrambled up to the top of the volcano, felt the heat of the Cornucopia below. If she toppled backwards, she might either hit one of the rocky platforms that had materialized here, or she might hit lava.

Ahsoka didn’t bother risking a glance backwards. She didn’t have that kind of time, because Anakin was closing in fast.

For a moment, Ahsoka saw herself teetering over the edge of the volcano. She saw herself shooting past Anakin at the last second, letting Anakin fall into the lava below.

And then she imagined standing over the crater as Anakin burned, and that was when she realized that she was already doing everything she could to quickly unravel that image, quickly burn it away, because she didn’t want to see it—she couldn’t see it—

But Anakin was getting closer now, and Ahsoka was still standing at the edge of the volcano.

Ahsoka blinked. The smoke and the fires were stinging her eyes, and she wondered if in the end, she would turn into Anakin. If she would also lose all control of her thoughts and her movements, and maybe she would wind up attacking Obi-Wan. Or maybe she would just attack whoever was left…

“Come on,” Ahsoka said, forcing her voice to be even. “What’re you waiting for?”

Anakin climbed up. Closer and closer, his steps came, and Ahsoka, contrary to her previous fight with herself, decided to look down into the crater. She saw the lava bubble down below, felt the heat of the gas that escaped its bubbles. And then she looked at the teleporters—the little bits of rock that had transported herself and all the other tributes into the arena. One of them was shining faintly—but Ahsoka couldn’t quite tell if that was just from the light of the fire or maybe just the glimmer of the smoke or _something_ —

Ahsoka spun back around. If she stepped aside now, Anakin would fall into the lava.

Ahsoka stayed.

She stayed even as Anakin brought his sword down on her, and she stayed even as she was forced down to her knees. She looked up at Anakin. He wasn’t really looking at her—his eyes were _on_ her, but he wasn’t looking at her. She knew that.

Ahsoka reached up. And she found Anakin’s wrist—the one that was responsible for the grip on the sword.

“Well?” she asked, even as one of her arms buckled under the now stronger weight of the sword against her knife. “Are you gonna do it?”

Ahsoka tightened her hand around Anakin’s wrist. There was no way she could actually twist it or squeeze it hard enough for Anakin to drop the sword, but still, she tried—and she brought her foot up to kick Anakin away when suddenly, in a small voice, Anakin whispered, “Ahsoka?”

Ahsoka stopped.

“Anakin?”

But then that moment was gone, and that strange, cold look replaced Anakin’s face, and he was suddenly pressing down with his sword again, and this time, Ahsoka actually did buckle under the sudden weight.

“No—” Ahsoka started, her heart thudding fast in her chest. “Anakin—I heard you—you’re still in there—”

“Stop—talking,” Anakin gritted out.

“Can’t,” Ahsoka shot back. And with that, she slid herself underneath Anakin’s legs, scrambled up to her feet. She could feel the scrapes and cuts along her back as she spun around. She waited for Anakin to come charging after her, but instead, Obi-Wan was already there, his sword pushing against Anakin’s.

“He was there,” Ahsoka called. “Obi-Wan—I think Anakin’s still—”

“Stop _talking_ ,” Anakin growled, and he was breaking away from Obi-Wan, running down to Ahsoka—

Ahsoka started to lift her knives back up, but then she watched, both stunned and horrified, as Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin back.

For a moment, the two tottered over the edge of the volcano, their hands blindly gripping at each other’s, twisting and turning, and Ahsoka thought they were both going to go over—and she started forward a step, then two, then three, and—

A burst of lava spat itself up from the crater, and both Anakin and Obi-Wan lit up in its glow.

And Ahsoka watched then as Obi-Wan’s lips moved to say something—and she couldn’t quite make out what he had said, or what he had meant to say, but then their hands were slipping away from each other, and—

Anakin fell over the edge first.

Ahsoka screamed—she hadn’t meant to, but it came out, and for a moment, Obi-Wan looked like he was going to topple right after him, but—

She heard Obi-Wan’s shout, and when she rushed up, she found Obi-Wan leaning over the edge, his arm extended—

And Ahsoka ran up to find Obi-Wan still holding onto Anakin.

\--

Obi-Wan knew that he should let go.

He should let go—that was what he was supposed to do. That was how the games worked.

And yet he kept his hand wrapped around Anakin’s wrist, and he knew that he wasn’t about to let go.

His arm screamed in protest, and he was tired—everything in him was tired, and yet he still held on. Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin, found his face already clearing.

And then Anakin whispered, “I don’t think…”

“I’ve got you,” Obi-Wan replied evenly. As evenly as he could, even with his straining arm. “Anakin. We’re coming back up.”

Anakin only craned his neck, and Obi-Wan swore under his breath, dropping his sword and using his other hand to secure his grip on Anakin. “Stay still, otherwise I’ll—”

But Anakin looked back at Obi-Wan, and this time, his eyes were completely clear. Back to the Anakin that Obi-Wan knew and had gotten to know over the course of…he didn’t even know anymore. He didn’t care.

“You know,” Anakin said, and though he spoke quietly, Obi-Wan could still somehow hear him even over the roar of the lava. “This feels…kind of fitting.” He craned his head back again, and Obi-Wan felt his fingers slip—just for an instance, but it was enough for his blood to run cold.

“Anakin, _don’t_ —”

“I mean it,” Anakin said. “Like…before—the fire—you stopped it, even though you didn’t have to. And now we’re here…with all of this…” He gestured with a hand, and Anakin swayed dangerously lower.

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan heard the strain in his own voice. “ _Stop_.”

“Obi-Wan!”

Obi-Wan turned to find Ahsoka scrambling up to the edge of the volcano. She had cuts all over her face and her wrists, and she had taken off her jacket. Obi-Wan saw the cuts criss-crossing her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice, not as she dropped to her knees. “Hold on—Anakin, give me your other hand—”

“If I do,” Anakin said, “I’ll just kill you both.”

“Don’t be cocky,” Ahsoka said, her voice shaking a little. “You weren’t gonna kill us. You couldn’t stand a chance.”

A corner of Anakin’s lips twitched—a ghost of the same smile that Obi-Wan had seen Anakin give time and time again. That smile felt suddenly too familiar somehow, and Obi-Wan wished that it hadn’t.

“So give me your other hand,” Ahsoka said. “Okay? Anakin? _Anakin_ —”

“Listen,” Anakin interrupted. “It’ll be easier this way, okay? Just—” He stopped. “If you guys see my mom—”

Another cloud of gas burst from one of the lava bubbles, and this time, Obi-Wan’s grip slackened. His fingers slipped, and then, just as Anakin was about to slip from under his hands, Obi-Wan held fast again. “Anakin,” he said. “This isn’t up for discussion. Now stop _moving_ —”

But then another cloud of gas came up from the lava, and Obi-Wan turned his face away, avoiding its sting. He saw Ahsoka do the same, but as he turned, he saw something else—the faintest glimmer of _something_ , and—

The transporters.

Obi-Wan’s breath caught.

Obi-Wan turned back to the gas. And there—through the gas, he saw something shine there, too.

Obi-Wan paused. And instead of just looking at the gas, he saw _through_ it—and there, at the other end of the Cornucopia, he saw a small figure dart down to one of the transporters. A boy. The only other tribute left in the arena.

The boy lifted his head.

Another cloud of gas, and when Obi-Wan blinked, the boy was gone.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered. “There’s a way.”

“See, you keep saying that, but I’m trying to be very dramatic and self-sacrificial here, so if you could just—”

“No,” Obi-Wan interrupted, looking down at Anakin. “There’s a _way_.” He couldn’t trust himself to say anything else. The Capitol had to be watching—they had to have watched that boy disappear, and yet, nothing happened. No ships came down to snatch them all away, the arena didn’t stop.

There was something happening.

“We just have to figure it out,” Obi-Wan said. “We can…”

He looked at Ahsoka, who had lifted her head. She was looking across the Cornucopia. She had seen too, he realized.

And then Ahsoka looked at Obi-Wan.

“We can,” Ahsoka repeated. She looked down at Anakin. “You’re not going to come down to us—we’re going to come down to _you_.”

\--

“You’re going to push yourself onto that rock,” Obi-Wan told Anakin.

Anakin looked to where Obi-Wan was pointing. That wasn’t just a rock—that was a transporter—one of the transporters that had brought the tributes up to the surface, but when he turned to say so to Obi-Wan, he found that strange, strange look on Obi-Wan’s face that somehow told Anakin to keep quiet. Keep still.

“Guys, this really isn’t—”

“Just for once,” Obi-Wan said, “ _listen_.”

Anakin stopped. There was something oddly desperate in Obi-Wan’s voice now: a new kind of desperation that wasn’t there just a few minutes ago. He looked at Ahsoka who was also standing very, very still.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “Do you understand what you have to do?”

Anakin looked at their hands. Obi-Wan still had a tight grip on Anakin, and he had a sudden feeling that Obi-Wan wasn’t going to let go unless Anakin gave his absolute word.

“What are you doing?” Anakin asked.

“You’ll understand,” Obi-Wan replied. “Just—you have to trust me.”

Anakin stared.

“Well?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do you trust me?”

He really, really shouldn’t.

Anakin nodded.

“Good. Now one…two…”

When Obi-Wan let go of Anakin’s hand, he pushed himself off the edge and—

He hit the transporter with a loud _thump_. Anakin felt something tear at his stomach, knew that there were probably cuts and scrapes there, but he wasn’t swimming in lava, so he supposed that was a start. He slowly stood up on the transporter and turned around to see Ahsoka steady herself against the edge, and then she _leapt_ off.

Anakin backed away a half-step, already reaching out to grab Ahsoka in case she slipped, but she landed nimbly next to Anakin. Now there was only just barely enough space for—

Obi-Wan came flying forward a moment later.

“What now?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan dropped to his knees. “The other tribute,” he said, his voice low. “Ahsoka and I saw him disappear through the transporter.”

Anakin blinked. “What do you mean, disappear—”

“He disappeared,” Ahsoka said. “Meaning he might have just gone out of the arena.”

“How do you know he didn’t show up at a different part of the arena?” Anakin asked.

“Think about it,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s young, and he’s small. By all accounts, he should have been one of the first to die. He didn’t have any weapons—he must have hid somehow. And if our theory is correct…”

Anakin looked down. The transporter was shining just faintly, and for a moment, Anakin remembered the steam from before—how that had shimmered too, and not in a way that had been normal. And he wondered… _could they have always left the arena?_

“Did you know about this?” Anakin asked in a low voice.

Obi-Wan’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you know,” Anakin repeated.

“We just thought about the transporter now,” Ahsoka said impatiently. “Anakin, help us figure this out—”

“Before,” Anakin started, “with Maul—when the snow started melting—you _knew_ something was happening.”

“The snow?” Ahsoka asked, confused.

They both looked at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan looked at them. “ _Now_?” he asked, exasperated. “You want to discuss this _now_?”

“So there’s something to discuss?”

“There’s something to _fix_ first,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “The transporter isn’t working.”

Before any of them could react, there was a sudden _boom_ , and then darkness—and at first, Anakin thought that the arena had erupted, but no—he heard the shriek of wind, and when he looked up, he found—

“Uh,” Ahsoka said, her voice pitched, “I think the Capitol knows what we’re doing.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan swore.

“You said that the kid managed to get out?” Anakin asked, looking at Obi-Wan.

“Yes, but—”

“It’s because we’re all standing on this damn thing,” Anakin said. “ _Think_ about it. This works like a pressure plate, right? I mean, it’s a transporter, but that’s got to be the only way. We’re too heavy.”

“So—”

“So we have to do this one at a time,” Anakin said hurriedly.

“The other transporters—”

Anakin looked. The lights had died from the others. Some were still flickering, flickering, flickering—and then—but the one they were standing on remained alive.

“I don’t think that’s an option,” Anakin said.

“Right,” Obi-Wan said. “Ahsoka, you’re going first.”

Ahsoka’s face fell. She looked up at the Capitol’s pod, which was looming closer. “What about—”

“Don’t argue,” Anakin snapped. “The longer we stick around here, the less time we have to get out of here.”

Ahsoka stared. And then, with a sharp nod, she said, “You two _better_ come back.”

Anakin’s throat closed. “See you in a second, Snips.”

And then both Anakin and Obi-Wan leapt away from the transporter.

\--

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said when Ahsoka vanished. “Anakin, now you.”

“If you really think that—”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said roughly, grabbing Anakin’s arm. “I really _do_ think. So stop arguing with me and just _go_.” The pod above them was beating down now, hard enough for Obi-Wan to actually hear the thrum of the mechanisms working within. He didn’t dare look up.

He started to push Anakin forward, but before he could, something shot down from the pod.

Both Obi-Wan and Anakin leapt backwards to avoid the metal claw that came down.

“I think,” Obi-Wan panted, struggling up to his feet, “we’re running out of time.”

“I think so too,” Anakin replied. They stared at the transporter they had just been standing on a moment ago—and when Obi-Wan lifted his head, the pod was already starting to move, already adjusting itself to grab hold of them again.

Obi-Wan looked around. They would have to jump over each of the broken transporters now, probably run in to complete the circle before they could get to the working transporter again—and that was only _if_ the transporter would still be working by the time they got back.

Obi-Wan decided that it would have to work.

“We’ll have to go in the other direction,” he said.

“You don’t mean—”

“Try not to fall in the lava,” Obi-Wan said, looking down at the sea of red and orange and black below. “I’ll do my best to catch you, but I think falling might just slow us down.”

Anakin’s face was lit up by the flames. “I’ll try,” he replied.

There was another crushing sound—but Obi-Wan didn’t bother turning around to see what the commotion was. He pushed Anakin forward, and then the two were off.

Obi-Wan felt the transport crumble beneath him just as his foot left the surface—felt the sudden whip of air and flames around him as he guessed the claw had come so narrowly closed around him. Ahead of him, Anakin jumped from transport to transport.

They would make it.

They had to make it.

Obi-Wan leapt forward just as the claw came dangerously close again. And then the shadow looming over them started to move, and Obi-Wan saw a part of the pod shifting again: they were going to try to close in from the other side, Obi-Wan realized.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started, but Anakin had gotten the hint. They picked up the pace—Anakin would jump onto another transport just as Obi-Wan landed. They’d only pause for a second—less than a second, before they’d be off again, and up ahead, Obi-Wan could see that the working transport was still flickering, still waiting for them.

Obi-Wan risked a glance upwards. The pod was closing down on them now, and then—

He slipped. He hadn’t meant to, but before he could fall, he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and yank him back.

“Pay attention,” Anakin said, and he was smirking a little, but Obi-Wan knew that they were both running out of time—

 _They were running out of time_.

Obi-Wan looked at the transport. It would need a few seconds to recharge in between transporting people. If Anakin went, Obi-Wan would have to wait, and by then, the pod would—

_Ah._

Obi-Wan felt oddly calm at the knowledge now.

 _Pay attention_ , _indeed._

“Go,” Obi-Wan managed, letting go of Anakin’s hand. “ _Go_.”

Anakin paused for another moment, but then he turned and jumped for the last broken transporter. The working one was still flickering.

And then Anakin stopped.

The pod was still bearing down on them.

“What about you?” Anakin asked, turning around. His eyes were wide, brows furrowed. “If I go—”

“There’s no time for that,” Obi-Wan said sharply. “ _Go_ , otherwise we _both_ won’t make it.”

“ _No_ ,” Anakin said. “There has to be way— _we’re going to find a way_ —okay? _We’re going to find a way_.”

\--

Ahsoka was going to find a way.

When she materialized into the transporter room, she found Rex and Riyo already waiting for her. She didn’t even bother asking questions—didn’t bother wondering why it was that there weren’t any Capitol people closing in on her.

“They’re still in there,” Ahsoka said, scrambling to her feet. “We have to get them out.”

And to Ahsoka’s relief, Rex didn’t bother asking any other questions either. He knew, she realized. He knew all along.

“We’re going to,” Rex said. “But the game makers—we managed to get into the system, but with the other transporters…”

Ahsoka’s stomach clenched. “Where,” she said.

“They’re still in their room—above—”

Ahsoka didn’t bother listening to the rest. She dove past Rex and Riyo, her hands already reaching for her knives. She was semi-aware of footsteps hurrying after her, and then she came to a short stop as Ventress stepped out from around the hallway. Ahsoka paused, and for a moment, she wondered if Ventress might—since she was a Capitol person—

Ventress only tugged out twin blades of her own. “Well, sweetheart,” she drawled, “tell me you at least have a plan.”

Ahsoka’s heart thudded. “What about the others? Are Anakin and Obi-Wan’s—”

“Damage control,” Ventress replied, nodding up the stairs. “They’ve got their own people to worry about. Turning off the cameras from the rest of the districts isn’t an easy task, darling. So we’ve got to multitask.”

Ahsoka nodded. “I can do that,” she said. She turned around to find Rex and Riyo standing a little ways behind her. “I might just need a distraction.”

Rex and Riyo gave Ahsoka matching wicked smiles.

Ahsoka decided that was enough.

\--

She found herself hiding in the vents a moment later. That felt oddly familiar, even though Ahsoka had never hid in the vents before. But it was simple—just like hiding on the beams of the training room or hiding amongst the branches back home. Ahsoka could hear footsteps below her, the sudden cry of Capitol guards as Rex and Ventress caught them by surprise.

She crept her way forward, and then—below, she saw the game makers. They were moving around quickly, all of them wearing equally panicked and frantic looks as they tried to regain control of whatever was going on in the arena.

Ahsoka smiled grimly to herself.

They wouldn’t ever have that control again.

That was what she told herself as she popped open the vent, dropped down right on top of the main controls. Surprised shouts chorused around her, but Ahsoka didn’t stop.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said to the first game maker she saw.

She was met with a hurled fist to the face.

Ahsoka ducked. “Okay,” she said. “I get it.”

She let her knives fly.

She hated the sounds that people made as they dropped to the floor, their little gasps and cries for help that wouldn’t come, and Ahsoka hated that this was what happened in the end.

But at the same time, Ahsoka looked—she turned and looked at the main viewing screen. Found Obi-Wan and Anakin frozen on two separate transports. They were saying something—shouting at each other, she realized, as the last working transport flickered behind them.

Ahsoka didn’t have to hear them to know what they were arguing about.

The doors slid open behind her, and Ahsoka whirled around, already reaching for her knives, but it was only Rex and Ventress.

“Well?” Ventress asked. “What are you waiting for?”

Ahsoka turned back around to the controls. Transporters, transporters…she could direct them _here_ —

She slammed her hands down and activated the rest of the transports.

\--

When Anakin and Obi-Wan appeared, Ahsoka was the first to run forward.

“What—”

They both looked lost, hilariously so, and they kept blinking—probably at the brightness of the game makers’ room, but that didn’t matter in the end, because Ahsoka was there to guide them away from the transports. Their hands were cold, even despite the fact that they had been standing in a literal volcano—hands cold, and when Ahsoka flung her arms around both Obi-Wan and Anakin’s necks, she realized that they were shaking.

And then she felt arms cling tightly around her shoulders—Anakin and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, as it should be.

\--

Anakin didn’t really remember the rest. Just that they had all been led away to some place, and Anakin remembered seeing a few semi-familiar faces before sinking into sleep. He remembered hearing people talking above him, and he remembered feeling something sting at his wrist, and he realized dimly that that was the tracking device that all tributes had worn before going into the arena—and that was being taken out now, _huh_ —

And he remembered feeling someone’s hand brush back his hair, and that hand felt oddly familiar, and he remembered feeling warmth gather behind his eyes, but he couldn’t quite understand why.

He wasn’t sure how long he had stayed asleep either—not until Anakin opened his eyes.

At first, all he could see were white lights and glass walls.

And then he heard a quiet intake of breath—and when Anakin turned, he saw—

“Mom?”

Anakin’s voice came out too small, but his mom heard him.

Anakin buried his face into his mom’s shoulder a moment later.

\--

Ahsoka was awake the whole time. She remembered being led away into a pod—a bit like the Capitol’s, and yet not—and then they were taking off into the air, and an hour later, there was only darkness. Some place underground, that was what Rex said they were.

And at first, Ahsoka couldn’t see anything. She had given up trying to wake Anakin and Obi-Wan—and she had been the first one to walk out into the hallway.

She found her dad first.

She ran straight into his arms, and then she heard her brothers’ laughter, and there was nothing but warm arms wrapped around her.

She looked over her dad’s shoulder once to see Rex and Obi-Wan’s stylist—Cody—hovering a little way away, wearing smiles that were similar and yet not the same. Rex gave her a little nod, and Ahsoka nodded back.

\--

When Obi-Wan awoke, Qui-Gon was already waiting for him.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

And then Qui-Gon lowered himself on the bed. The mattress dipped and squeaked a little under the sudden weight, but Obi-Wan didn’t mind. He sat up slowly. Waited.

And then Obi-Wan asked quietly, “Are they all…”

“They’re safe,” Qui-Gon replied. “Thanks to you. You did well.”

 _You did well._ Obi-Wan only shifted against the bed.

And then he nodded.

And after a while, he asked, “Did you know? From the start?”

Qui-Gon paused.

“When you decided that I would be in the games,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “Did you already know how it would end?”

“I wasn’t entirely sure,” Qui-Gon replied quietly. “We had some time to plan and prepare, but—we gambled. Hoped for the odds to turn in our favor.”

Obi-Wan stared down at his lap.

“Why now?” he asked at last.

Qui-Gon only looked at Obi-Wan. “Would you rather it wasn’t now?”

Obi-Wan tried to imagine someone else in his place. Someone else who would have gone into the arena and come out victorious—no, not victorious. But just a repeat of the last year’s games, and the year before that, and the year before that. Alone, standing on top a pile of corpses.

“No,” Obi-Wan replied honestly.

They were quiet again.

“The others…there was a boy—”

“Yes, Caleb.” Qui-Gon’s eyes wrinkled briefly. “He’s bright. And Mace Windu and Depa Billaba are rather fond of the boy.”

“So there was one other,” Obi-Wan said. He looked around the room for something else to concentrate on. “Why not all of them? Or the others?”

Another pause. This one more pained, and when Obi-Wan looked, he only saw shadows on his father’s face.

“There are still games to play,” Qui-Gon said at last.

Obi-Wan let those words sink in.

“So what now?” he asked. His throat hurt, whether from all the time in the arena or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“Now.” Qui-Gon let out a breath. “Now, we start playing the games on our terms.”

\--

But before our heroes could start playing the games— _the real_ games, a moment of reprieve:

Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka stepped out of their respective rooms in the end. They were tired and worn and frankly, their heads were all still reeling from the fact that, in the end, they had been pulled from the arena in order to end the tradition of the games once and for all.

But in that dark underground space, they found each other.

Hands fumbling a little in the dark, their faces lit only by the dimmest of lights, they found each other and waited.

 _Let the games begin_ , they thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so, so, so much for the support of this fic! i was rather nervous posting this fic at first, because i hadn't ever written a hunger games/tcw au before--and quite frankly, i don't think i've ever re-translated tcw into another franchise before...so this was a bit of a challenge for me. i wanted to make sure that i was still doing the characters justice, but still tweaking them just enough so that they could fit in this new environment. 
> 
> i've loved all your support so much, and i'm so grateful that so many of you followed along with this story, whether you found it when i posted chapter one or just a few minutes ago. thank you, thank you, thank you! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this project has been a long time coming, but here we are! Thank you [Sarah](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9993837/) for being the lovely person to go "caroline consider...hunger games tcw au", and the idea wasn't able to get out of my head since. I'm super excited to begin this project! Each chapter will be quite long (I'm estimating 5K - 7K words per chapter, depending on the exact content), so I hope that's okay!
> 
> Updates will be weekly!
> 
> As always, comments/kudos/subscriptions are greatly appreciated!


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